


Higher Learning

by CallistoNicol



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: ...sort of, F/M, Modern AU, Romance, and Loki as a smarmy professor, in college!, starring Sif as a career woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-14 21:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallistoNicol/pseuds/CallistoNicol
Summary: Sif didn't mean to fall in love with her roommate's professor, but he was wearing a tweed suit and had a British accent. How was she supposed to say no to that?Too bad she had a boyfriend...





	1. You're So Cool It Makes Me Hate You So Much

The front door flew open, bouncing off the wall once before slamming closed. Darcy’s disembodied voice called out, “Okay, don’t hate me, but I need a massive favor and since I helped you spy on your boyfriend last month, you totally owe me.”

Sif looked up from the newspaper she was pretending to read. It had shown up unexpectedly on their doorstep, and since she came of age in the Internet era, she’d never read the morning paper while sitting at the table sipping coffee, and she wanted to try it at least once. Now that she saw how poorly the articles were written, she was beginning to understand why newspapers were dying when she could find multiple excellent news sources online.

Darcy slipped into the kitchen, coming to a full stop as she spotted Sif’s paper. Her face scrunched up. “Is that a real paper? Oh my gosh, Sif, what are you, 40?”

Thirty-one, but whatever. Setting down the paper, Sif turned to face her much younger roommate. “What is it I’m doing for you?”

“Right,” Darcy said, sliding into the chair next to Sif. “See, I just got this fabulous internship that I can _not_ turn down, but I have to report in right when my Greek Lit class starts. I’ll do all the work and read all the things; I just need you to show up for attendance purposes and take really good notes for me.”

Setting down her coffee, Sif made a show of cleaning out her ear. “Did I hear you right?” she asked. “You want me to go to college for you?”

Clasping her hands in front of her, Darcy tried to pull kitten eyes. “Please?” she begged. “I need this internship, and Greek Lit is my last general and it’s only offered in the fall. Please, please, please, please, _pleeease_?”

This was exactly why Sif had been hesitant to take on a younger roommate. College had been fun while it lasted, but she had no desire to return to the supposed glory years. But sometimes your older brother needed rehab for his hallucinogenic drugs, and who was going to pay for that but the little sister who actually held a job? Rehab was expensive, and Sif needed the extra income Darcy’s rent provided. Until this moment, she hadn’t been sure what 20-year-old Darcy was getting out of the deal.

“You’re kidding, right?” Sif said. “I’m, like, a decade older than everyone in that class.”

“But you’re basically the same age as the professor!” Darcy said, excitement increasing the volume of her voice. “So you’ll fit right in! Plus you’re really hot and look like you’re still below the 25 line, so nobody else will know.”

Somebody else would probably find that complimenting, but Sif just got irritated when people subtracted years from her age. She’d earned those years, dammit, and was starting to get the wrinkles to prove it. “Darcy,” she started.

“One class,” Darcy interrupted. “Just one class. If you completely hate it, I won’t make you go back and I’ll just take it next year.”

Picking up her cup of coffee, Sif said, “Or you could just take it next year anyway.”

“Pleeeeease, Sif?” Darcy begged, bouncing in her seat like a child who refused to go potty. Sif hid a smile in her mug.

With a shrug, Sif said, “I can’t do it, Darce. I work all day.”

“Which is why this is so brilliant! It’s an evening class! Tuesdays and Thursdays from 6:30 to 8.”

There were twenty dozen ways this could go wrong, so Sif didn’t know why she acquiesced. Boredom, maybe. Or perhaps her love for her fellow man hadn’t been killed off after all, and this was the good deeds portion of her brain reminding her it still existed. “Fine,” Sif said, “but in return you have to clean the bathroom every week.”

“Deal!” Darcy shouted, slamming her hand on the table, the force of which toppled the salt shaker sitting in the middle. “Sif, you’re the best and I love you!” She threw her arms around Sif in a brief hug before running back out the front door.

Darcy ran back in, the front door once again bouncing off the wall. They really needed to invest in a door stopper. “One more thing,” Darcy yelled from the door. “The professor is kind of a beast. Apparently his fiancée dumped him or something, and he’s turned into a walking nightmare. But he’s world renowned for--” Sif stopped listening, not caring for the inner details of Darcy’s professor’s life, and returned to skimming the paper. The last thing she heard was Darcy’s admonition about taking great notes or something because of killer something something, and then the young girl ran back out the door.

Blerg. The energy of twenty-year-olds was enough to make Sif regret all her life choices.

*

On Tuesday evening Sif made her way to Dr. Odinson’s Greek Lit class. Work had run late, so she hadn’t had time to change and was showing up to an evening college course in a pencil skirt and blazer, firmly holding a briefcase. She felt grossly out of place amongst skinny jeans, pajama pants, chocos, and messenger bags. Scanning the room, she searched for where she wanted to sit. Back in her day, Sif always found seats in classes by scoping out who looked the friendliest and like they might take class seriously but not too seriously. Today, every student had their phone out, surfing the net, snapping pictures for social media, or playing games while they waited, making it difficult to read faces. Cell phones had barely been invented when Sif started college—and now she felt like a dinosaur.

Giving up on finding a friendly face, Sif selected a seat smack in the middle of the auditorium. She pulled out her college-ruled notebook, a stark contrast to everyone else’s sleek laptops. “Dude, what is that?” some kid sitting two seats over from her said, pointing mockingly at her paper and multi-colored pens. “I didn’t realize society even still used paper. Where’s your laptop?”

Sif pursed her lips, wondering how much trouble she’d get in if she smacked his smart mouth. “My parents are poor,” she said, and the kid looked at her like she was an idiot.

“Get a student loan, then,” he said, and Sif couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“I want to graduate debt-free,” she said sweetly. “Plus I’m not here to read threads on Reddit.” He scowled and turned away, which didn’t bother Sif at all. She scrawled the date across the top of her page, satisfied with her antiquated note-taking methods. She knew from work meeting experience that if she had her laptop out she’d be on Facebook instead of taking notes, and that was no way to get Darcy her college education.

It occurred to Sif she might need to get some hobbies.

The lights went out, and some idiot girl in the back screamed, laughter rippling amongst the rest of the students. The lights turned back on, and standing in the front of the room was the man Sif could only assume was Dr. Odinson. He was a dramatic little bean, she thought.

“Welcome to Greek Lit,” the man said in a beautiful British accent. Sif had to force her hand down before she fanned herself, because his voice was gorgeous. “Syllabuses are available online, and yes, the plural is syllabuses, not syllabi or syllapoda or whatever other asinine plural you try to assign to this word to prove your superior intellect. It’s a common English word, and therefore, as syllabus ends with an -s, you pluralize it by adding -es.”

He carried himself like he was the classroom god, and spoke like it, too. That should have been a major turnoff, but Sif had always had a thing for assholes, and against her better judgment, she was fascinated by this professor. “I don’t care if you show up to class or not,” Dr. Odinson continued in his musical voice, “and I don’t care if you pay attention or play on your phone. But if your phone goes off in my class, I _will_ confiscate it and I _will_ lob it against the wall so hard it shatters, and when you come crying to me about ruining mummy and daddy’s newest gift to you, I will snidely remind you my reaction was clearly outlined in the syllabus, with full approval of the department.”

Oh yeah. Major asshole. It was a good thing Sif had a boyfriend, or she would be all over this cretin.

...She definitely needed new hobbies.

Dr. Odinson spent fifteen minutes going over class expectations and schedules, none of which Sif paid attention to as that was Darcy’s duty. Instead she focused on the man himself, observing his fluid movements and appreciating how well his clothes fit. He was wearing a three piece tweed suit that made him look delightfully British and professorial. Sif imagined him with elbow patches and a pipe, and couldn’t contain her grin.

The man noticed. Halting his lecture, he zeroed in on her. “You, in the business dress,” he said. “You find something amusing?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Not in the slightest.”

His eyes narrowed, clearly displeased with her flippant remark, but he didn’t pursue the issue and returned to his lecture.

Once past the introduction, he delved into a detailed explanation of Greek society and how the gods played a massive role. Sif dutifully took multi-colored handwritten notes, and figured it was Darcy’s own fault if she couldn’t read Sif’s handwriting.

Sif’s eyes widened drastically at the end of class when Dr. Odinson handed out the reading assignment. Darcy had to read _how much_ of _The Iliad_ before next class? Sif quietly whistled, her noise lost amongst the anguished chatter of the students. She was so grateful she already had her degree.

On her way out of class, Dr. Odinson tapped her on the shoulder. “I expect great things from you,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

He gestured to her clothes. “You’re dressed for success. Impress me.”

Good luck with that. Darcy was a great person, but Sif had read more than one of her term papers and knew Dr. Odinson was going to be mightily disappointed. Saying nothing, she saluted him and made her escape.

*

Day two, Dr. Odinson spent half the lecture discussing why Agamemnon was a terrible leader and Achilles was correct in his assertions that he was being mistreated. Sif only intended to listen well enough to take notes, but that accent drew her in, and before long Sif wished she’d read the book so she could keep up with Dr. Odinson.

Curse Darcy. She was going to get Sif to read a classic, something she’d sworn off in high school.

“Where’s your copy of _The Iliad_?” Sif asked her roommate that night.

“I dunno,” Darcy said. “My desk?”

Sif found it on the kitchen counter, clearly unopened. She growled in frustration. “Darcy!” she bellowed, storming into Darcy’s room. “I am not attending this class so you can not do the work! Read the damn book!”

“Okay, okay,” Darcy said. “I’ve just been a little busy. Dr. Foster runs a pretty demanding internship.”

“Don’t care,” Sif said. “Read the book or I’m never going back to class.”

Which was how Sif found herself at the bookstore looking for her own copy of _The Iliad_. Dr. Odinson was particular about which translation she used, and she couldn’t remember which one he asked for. She should have taken a picture of Darcy’s copy.

Her phone dinged with a text from her boyfriend.

_Haldor (7:02): hey babe where you at_

_Sif (7:03): the bookstore. Buying a book for Darcy’s class._

_Haldor (7:03): ...oookay_

_Haldor(7:03): you wanna go to the bar when you’re done_

Sif pretended she hadn’t seen that last text, because there was no way to tell Haldor she wanted to spend the evening (whole weekend, actually) reading a book written thousands of years before he was born. He was not going to be happy with her. She’d make it up to him later. Maybe the next bar they went to, she’d smile and not complain out loud about being there.

Maybe. That might be a tall order.

Figuring she could return it if she bought the wrong version, Sif grabbed the Robert Fagles copy.

“That’s the wrong translation.”

Her head snapped up. Dr. Odinson stood there, looking amused. Sif had to remind herself that she’d done nothing wrong; this wasn’t her class, so she had no obligation to read the texts. She was just there as Darcy’s notetaker. But under his faintly amused British smirk, she felt like a child being chastised.

Resisting the urge to shove the offending translation back on the shelf, Sif said, “I was just curious what made this one inferior.”

He clearly didn’t believe her, but played along. “The poetry is substandard,” he said, taking a second copy off the shelf. “Listen to the first stanza--

 

_Rage--Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles,_

_murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses,_

_hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,_

_great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion,_

_feasts for the dogs and birds,_

_and the will of Zeus was moving towards its end._

 

“And then compare it to Fitzgerald’s translation,” he said, picking up a second version of _The Iliad_ , clearly the copy Sif should be in possession of.

 

_“Anger be now your song, immortal one,_

_Akhilleus’ anger, doomed and ruinous,_

_that caused the Akhaians loss on bitter loss_

_and crowded brave souls to the undergloom,_

_leaving so many dead men--carrion_

_for dogs and birds; and the will of Zeus was done._

 

“ ‘Anger be now your song’ invokes a stronger reaction than ‘rage--Goddess, sing the rage.’ The first feels like reading poetry, while the second feels like I’m at a punk rock concert. Also consider how each describes the Akhaian loss. ‘Countless losses’ describes the magnitude, but ‘loss on bitter loss’ expresses feeling, which draws a deeper connection from the reader. Fagles then refers to the dead as ‘sturdy.’ This is Greece; no one wishes to be described as _sturdy_.”

It occurred to Sif that listening to Dr. Odinson speak outside of class was just as magical as listening to him in lecture. Curse this man; she really was going to read an ancient classic. “ _Crowded brave souls_ does paint a lovely, if grotesque, picture,” Sif said, hoping he didn’t think her a complete simpleton.

“Never underestimate the power of well chosen words,” Dr. Odinson said, looking fondly at the translation he so cherished. Sif felt a brief moment of jealousy; that look of fondness stemmed from long association with something beloved. Haldor looked at her like a beer buddy he got to kiss. She did not regret ignoring his bar invitation.

“And for the love of all that is holy, do not grab a prose translation,” Dr. Odinson concluded, looking back up. “They’re all insipid and an insult to man’s intelligence.” He’d said as much in class, which Sif had written down in purple ink for Darcy.

He replaced the Fagles translation and handed her the Fitzgerald translation. Before she could protest, he said, “I know you’re here to buy it. Don’t bother lying about it.”

“It’s not what you think,” Sif said, accepting the novel. “It’s just that in class you made it sound so interesting I had to know what you were talking about. I’m not actually a student, you see, but now I kind of wish I was.”

“Not a student. Right,” he said drily. Sif shrugged; he didn’t have to believe her.

With a murmured _thank you_ , Sif made her excuses and headed to the register. The magic of the moment lingered as she left Dr. Odinson behind, a smile on her face. If school had been this much fun when she was in college, she might have applied herself more. With a professor like Dr. Odinson, she might even have switched majors from business to the classics. Or at least minored in it; she still wanted a job, after all.

“Not many people come through here with that book and a smile on their faces,” the cashier said, ringing up the book.

“They just need a reason to love it,” Sif said.

*

_Haldor (6:58): you left me hanging yesterday baby_

_Haldor (6:58): come out with me tonight_

Sif sighed as she put her phone back in her pocket. She’d just made it to book 5, where Diomedes represented a type of Achilles to come. Dr. Odinson had prattled on about this moment for twenty minutes, and she really wanted to read it. Going to the bar wasn’t her idea of fun anyway. She’d rather sip a glass of wine at home on the couch, in a clean and quiet environment, not a crowded, loud, often smoky area.

But she did owe Haldor. She hadn’t seen him in several days. And anyway, he liked dancing, so maybe while he slithered to the dance floor she could excuse herself and read quietly at the bar.

_Sif (7:04): fine_

_Sif (7:04): meet you at Asgard’s in 30_

_Haldor: woot!_

Yeah, she could definitely read while he got plastered. Sif sighed; he was in his thirties. When would drinking like a frat boy get old for him?

Her predictions were correct, and within half an hour of arriving at Asgard’s, Haldor was sloshed and shimmying it up on the dance floor. Sif quietly sipped her mineral water and read the absurd scene where Diomedes met Glaukos on the battlefield and switched armor. Haldor popped in periodically, offering sloppy kisses and slurred proclamations she mostly ignored.

As the evening progressed, the volume of the music increased, as did the amount of people present. After being jostled one too many times, Sif gave up and closed her book. The last time she’d spotted her boyfriend, he was going at it on the dance floor with some brunette who didn’t seem to mind his flailing limbs. Sif couldn’t even see the dance floor anymore through the crush of people. Slipping through the crowd, she made it outside and headed to a nearby coffee shop. Haldor would eventually text her when he was ready to leave, at which point she’d make it back to the club.

The coffee shop, called Deja Brew, was a bit too hipster for Sif’s taste, but it was quiet and close, and that’s what she needed. Ordering her usual black coffee, she found a corner and holed up with her book.

Shortly after 10:30, feeling a bit peckish, Sif ordered a pumpkin muffin. In a moment of spontaneity, she also ordered one of their specialty fall coffees, pumpkin white chocolate mocha. Taking her muffin back to her seat, she waited for her name to be called.

A moment later, her order was called out but with no name. Before she could even stand, someone from outside slunk inside and took the drink, surreptitiously handing over cash. Sif stared. It was Dr. Odinson. What were the chances? Panicking, she grabbed her book and held it up to cover her face--because that was sure to not attract his attention, waving his favorite book in the air. To make matters worse, the barista called out her name. “Sif!” Cautiously, she lowered the book and made eye contact with the professor. His eyes went wide, and Sif swore he was more embarrassed than she was.

Baring her teeth in a half-hearted attempt at a smile, she finger waved and hoped he’d make a quick exit. No such luck. Whether he wanted to talk to her or was just rooted to the spot in shock, Dr. Odinson didn’t so much as twitch.

The barista was staring at her, holding the drink expectantly. There was nothing for it, then. With a sigh, Sif approached the counter and accepted her drink. “What are you doing here?” Dr. Odinson demanded. “This coffee shop isn’t anywhere close to campus.”

Squaring her shoulders, Sif turned to face him. “I live in this area,” she said. “And I’m not a student.” Realizing the man was holding the same drink as her, Sif narrowed her eyes. “Are you embarrassed to be drinking a girly drink?”

“What? No,” he said quickly, clearly flustered. “I take my coffee black.”

“He lies,” the barista said. “Loki’s a regular and always orders our season specials.”

A slow smile curled Sif’s lips, and Dr. Odinson didn’t seem half as intimidating as he had ten seconds ago. “You’re hiding your unconventional choices,” she crowed. “You have an image to maintain and don’t want students to know you drink something so unmanly!”

Dr. Odinson said nothing, but his pink face told Sif she was right.

He turned abruptly, striding towards the door. “I’ll see you in class,” he called over his shoulder, making a swift exit.

Feeling high on life, Sif followed, stopping just outside the door to call after him. “I’m really enjoying the book!” she yelled. He stopped mid-stride, body quivering as if uncertain whether to keep going or turn and face her. “I swore off classics after high school, but it’s kind of good. So thanks!”

She didn’t give him a chance to respond, slipping back inside, a large smile on her face.

Sif made it back to the club before Haldor missed her; he was still dancing with the brunette from earlier. Sif probably should have been bothered, but she was too happy to care.

It had been a good night.

*

Three weeks into the semester, Sif did something she’d never done before and stopped by a professor’s office hours. In class, Dr. Odinson insisted Achilles was the hero of the story, but Sif was having a hard time seeing it. The man was barely in the book. He had a whiny meltdown in the first couple of chapters, stayed absent for the entirety of the middle, and only showed up again to kill the real hero.

Technically she didn’t need to understand, as she wasn’t the one who had to write the paper, but she was curious. Interest in schoolwork was a whole new ballgame for her, and Sif wanted to take advantage of the feeling before she slipped back into academic apathy.

Dr. Odinson’s door was half open, his office empty of students. Sif wondered if anybody ever showed up, or if she was something of an anomaly. Knocking on the frame, she pushed the door open the rest of the way. The office was full of bookshelves, holding books and items that looked old. The walls held Dr. Odinson’s university degrees. His desk had a computer, a leatherbound notebook, a fountain pen, and an upside down picture frame that looked like it had seen better days. A smashed picture of the ex-fiancée, perhaps?

Dr. Odinson greeted her as she took a seat, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “How may I help you?” he asked, and Sif made the mistake of meeting his eyes. They were deep blue and intense. Instead of making her feel like she should duck and cover, those eyes made her want to invite him out to coffee.

_Remember the fiancée,_ she sternly told herself. Even if she was available, which she wasn’t ( _remember Haldor_ she scolded herself), Dr. Odinson was fresh off heartbreak. That was never a good time to get involved.

“I, uh, don’t understand,” she said, pointing to the book she held. “You said it was all about Achilles, but he’s barely in it. Convince me.”

Dr. Odinson raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to write your thesis and make your arguments for you?” he asked. It took Sif a moment to realize he was asking if she wanted him to help her cheat.

“What? No!” she said. She wasn’t even going to write the paper--that was Darcy’s job. “I just think you’re wrong. I’d write a counterargument about Hector being the real hero. He’s actually present throughout the book, and is a good man. Just look at how he treats his family--from his wife and kid to his brother Paris, the weeniest of them all.” Dr. Odinson huffed the tiniest of laughs, and Sif tried to pretend she wasn’t pleased she’d evoked that response.

“You’re not wrong about Hector,” Dr. Odinson said, “but you’re ignoring the premise of the entire story. Everything hinges on Achilles…”

For the next 40 minutes he tried to explain Achilles’ role while Sif argued back that Hector was twice the hero Achilles would ever be. It was quite the heated discussion, and he almost threw her out twice when she dared to insult his precious demigod. By the time they were done, Sif was beaming.

“You are the first student who’s ever come in and _argued_ with me over characters,” Dr. Odinson said, eyes bright. He wasn’t quite smiling, but Sif would bet good money he’d grin after she was gone.

“And you’re the first professor I’ve ever wanted to argue with,” she said. “I’m actually enjoying this class. Who knew old books could be interesting?”

“Old books are best enjoyed with hearty discussion,” he said. Hearty discussion with a British accent, Sif silently amended. “I daresay I’m looking forward to reading your paper on the matter.”

“Yeah, about that,” Sif said, on the verge of confessing she wasn’t going to write one, but changed her mind before she finished her sentence. No need to out Darcy. “Writing’s not my forte, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Escorting her to the door, Dr. Odinson said, “If you can think it, you can say it, and if you can say it, you can write it. Have some faith in yourself.”

She did; it was Darcy she had no faith in.

Outside, Sif unlocked her phone and looked up the number for Deja Brew. “Hi, do you deliver?” she asked the barista who answered. “Because I need a pumpkin white chocolate mocha sent to campus…”

*

It was Friday night, and once again Sif was alone at Asgard’s bar while Haldor was off somewhere doing something with someone. She wasn’t quite sure when their relationship turned into together-but-separate, but she was really starting to hate it. She was kicking herself for leaving her book at home; she should be reading the second of four Aristophanes plays Dr. Odinson assigned. She’d read _Lysistrata_ already, and laughed so hard she cried. Darcy walked in on the tear portion and nearly started World War III before Sif convinced her they weren’t tears of heartbreak.

Now she was stuck at the bar, nursing a glass of red table wine. It was terrible, making it perfect as it matched the mood of the evening.

Someone slid onto the barstool next to her, a blonde man twice Sif’s size. He smiled at her, wide enough that all his teeth were showing. “Hi,” he said in a British accent that reminded her of Dr. Odinson. “My brother says you look miserable, so I bet him $50 I could get you to smile. I need the money, you see, since I left my wallet at home and I need him to cover my tab.”

Sif laughed without meaning to, and the good looking stranger fist pumped. “Yes!” he shouted. “Thank you! Now I don’t have to ask him to cover me. That’s humiliating, you see, since he doesn’t want to be here and I made him come anyway.”

Sif could sympathize. Turning, she said, “Where is your brother?” The man pointed, and Sif turned farther to see a booth in a dark corner. There was a man there, hidden in the shadows. Squinting, she tried to make out his features. A burst of light from the dance floor briefly illuminated his stony face, and Sif gasped. She should have guessed from the accent. Turning back to the blonde, she demanded, “ _That’s_ your brother?”

“Yup,” the man said happily. “Loki’s the best, but he’s been staring at you since we came in and it was getting old. I’m Thor, by the way.”

This man was the polar opposite of Dr. Odinson. Where the professor was lithe, this man was built like a linebacker. Dr. Odinson had dark hair and pale skin, Thor was blonde and tan. Dr. Odinson had a voice that made women (Sif) swoon, while Thor, though also accented, somehow sounded ordinary. Not to mention her first impression of Dr. Odinson was he was an ass, while she pretty sure Thor was a golden retriever in disguise.

“I’m Sif,” she said. “I know your brother.”

“Excellent! Come join us and I’ll get him to buy your next drink.”

Had it been anyone else, Sif would have politely refused. She wasn’t into sitting with strange men while they bought her alcohol, but this was a chance to interact with Dr. Odinson in a non-academic setting, and she wasn’t going to pass that up.

Not waiting for Thor, Sif made her way to the Odinson booth. She couldn’t see his expression as she approached, hoping it wasn’t too annoyed. She sat opposite the professor, and Thor shoved his brother over. “Yes, I’ve always wanted to be squished with you at a bar,” Dr. Odinson said, contempt dripping from his voice.

Thor pointed at Sif. “I can’t sit next to her,” he said. “She doesn’t know me, and I’m the size of a small house. We can’t have her feeling trapped.”

“She wouldn’t feel trapped if you hadn’t intruded upon her solitude.”

“But we made a bet!”

Dr. Odinson turned to face Sif. “Pardon my brother. He always makes ridiculous bets when he forgets his wallet.”

Sif hid a smile as Thor said, “You knew?”

Dr. Odinson rolled his eyes. “Even if I hadn’t, you announced it to the entire club when you told Sif here. You’re not familiar with an inside voice, brother mine.”

Thor raised a finger and shook it once. “True.”

Sif was completely intrigued by this side of Dr. Odinson. In class he was brusque, at the coffee shop he was embarrassed, and in his office he was argumentative. She wasn’t quite sure what to call this side of him. Relaxed? Joking? Pleasant? In any case, she liked it. She liked fitting together the jigsaw pieces that made up Dr. Odinson.

“Is this all right?” she asked. “I’m not breaching any student-teacher lines, am I?”

Dr. Odinson looked faintly amused. “I thought you weren’t a student.”

“I’m not,” she said, “but I still don’t want to get you in trouble with the university.”

Definitely amusement, and it deepened slightly. “I won’t be buying you the drink my brother promised you, but he’s welcome to make good on that pledge.”

“I’m confused,” Thor said. “Not on the drink issue; we’ve already established I can’t pay, so I’ll just have to give you an IOU.” He made good on that promise, grabbing a napkin and stealing a pen from Dr. Odinson so he could scribble _IOU one drink since Loki’s being a wanker and won’t pay up._ He signed it, dated it, and handed it to Sif. She pocketed it. “I’m confused about you two. Are you a student?” he asked Sif. “Because I thought for sure you were about our age.”

“I’ve been told I am,” Sif said, “though I can’t confirm or deny it as the class syllabus didn’t give Dr. Odinson’s birth year.” Well, it could have; it’s not like she read the lengthy thing. But Sif was reasonably confident it wasn’t in there.

“Eighties,” Thor said. “I’m ‘85, he’s ‘86.”

“Eighty-seven,” Sif said.

Dr. Odinson blinked. “Really?” he asked.

Sif didn’t get a chance to respond as Haldor suddenly crashed into their booth, throwing his arms around Sif and giving her a possessive kiss. Attempted to, anyway; Sif only gave him access to her cheek. Drunk Haldor was not her favorite kissing partner. “Babe, I see you’re making friends,” he said, his words less slurred than usual. Addressing the Odinsons, he said, “‘Sup. I’m Haldor.”

“Thor, Loki,” Thor said, pointing his thumb at himself then at his brother. Dr. Odinson looked at Haldor much like Sif imagined Menelaus looked upon Paris. Sif hid a smirk in a cough. “We’re just chatting with the lady.”

Haldor flicked his head upward in acknowledgement before turning back to Sif. “If you’re bored, babe, we can go.”

Sif rolled her eyes. “I’ve been bored all evening. You can’t claim you care now just because I’m talking to some friends. Thor and Loki--” she loved how scandalous it felt to use Dr. Odinson’s first name, and made certain not to glance at the man in question lest he look upon her disapprovingly-- “were just discussing with me the ramifications of Hector’s death at the hands of Achilles.”

As expected, Haldor’s eyes glossed over at the mention of reading. He wasn’t unintelligent, just deeply uninterested in Sif’s newfound reading material. Also, Sif knew he wouldn’t consider academic friends actual rivals for her attention. “Right. You get back to that.” With a quick kiss, he disappeared back into the mass of bodies that was the dance floor.

“Charming,” Dr. Odinson said at his departure. Sif shrugged. Haldor was comfortable, familiar. They’d been together so long she’d forgotten what it was like to be without him. (A traitorous part of her wondered what it _would_ be like to be without him. Sif tamped that down.)

Thor’s eyes were still following Haldor; he frowned. “For a bloke who came running over to make sure you weren’t getting too friendly with the local meat, he’s getting awfully chummy with that bint.”

Sif was fairly certain she knew what that meant, but followed Thor’s line of sight to make sure. It took a moment as the swaying masses kept blocking her view, but when she finally caught sight of her boyfriend, he was wrapped around the brunette he’d been dancing with for the last few weeks. She grimaced; maybe she’d find out what it was like to be without Haldor sooner than expected.

Abandoning her wine, Sif said, “Excuse me,” and made her way outside.

The cool fall air felt good against the flush of her cheeks. Taking in several deep breaths, Sif leaned against the bar’s brick exterior. She wasn’t stupid; she knew Haldor had been dancing rather frequently with that girl. She even knew what kind of dancing they were doing. But it didn’t matter, because he was hers and she was his. He’d have a bit of fun, but not too much fun, and then come crawling back. In return, he didn’t mind when she let her eyes linger a tad too long where they shouldn’t (she resolutely did not think of a certain classics professor). Difference was, she knew better than to touch.

It wasn’t Haldor’s wandering hands that bothered Sif so much as it was sitting with Dr. Odinson and his brother while they got an eyeful. It made her feel small and pathetic.

Whipping out her phone, she sent a text.

_Sif (10:48): get your hands off her_

_Sif (10:48): i’m going home_

_Sif (10:48): i can’t believe you would come mark your territory then go straight back and_

_Sif (10:49): you know what screw you_

Turning her phone off, Sif marched home and went to bed, where she definitely did not dream of intense, judgmental blue eyes.

*

Haldor was at her door the next morning bearing muffins and black coffee. Darcy let him in; Sif would have left him on the doorstep. He held up the muffin bag. “You’re right; it was a dick move,” he said. “Truce?”

Sif shook her head. “Answer me this: when I stay in and read, what are you doing?”

Guilt crawled across Haldor’s face, and Sif knew the answer before he spoke. “Exactly what you’re thinking I’m doing.”

She didn’t know what to feel or what to say, so Sif grabbed the muffins and bit into one. Chocolate. Her favorite. Ripping off a chunk, she threw it at Haldor’s head. “You could have had the dignity to break up with me first.”

He shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Please tell me her name is at least Bambi or Barbi or something else equally stupid.”

“It’s Lorelei.”

That was so much worse. Who named their kid that? “Well, I hope she’s worth it,” Sif said, and pointed at the door.

Haldor took a step closer, eyes pleading. “You just spent so much time reading those dumb books,” he said. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Sif snorted. “Don’t pin this on me; you were fraternizing with her long before I started attending this class.”

He took another step forward, almost close enough to touch. “I know you’re mad now,” he said, “but you’re not _that_ mad. We could still work this out.”

It was almost sweet that he cared. Almost. But Sif couldn’t keep lying to herself; she and Haldor had been rocky for a while. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself. And, if she was being perfectly honest…

But she wasn’t ready for that level of honesty, not yet, not in the face of losing someone she’d been with for years.

“I don’t want to,” she said. Haldor’s face crumpled, and she rolled her eyes. “I swear, Haldor, if you start to fake cry--”

He smoothed out his features, shrugging. “Had to try.”

Pointing at the door again, she said, “Get out.” This time he backed up toward the door. Sif hadn’t pictured their breakup, but if she had, she would have expected deep heartbreak, rivers of tears, and probably a lot of yelling. She hadn’t expected to feel so tired. Or so grateful that he brought breakup muffins.

With one hand on the door, Haldor looked back at her and said, “I love you, Sif.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Always will.”

“Really don’t care right now.”

And he ducked out the door, closing it gently behind him. Looking down at the half-eaten muffin, Sif said, “I thought I would care more.” The muffin didn’t respond. She huffed, popping another piece into her mouth.

*

At Monday office hours, Sif let herself into Dr. Odinson’s office and slapped Thor’s napkin on the desk. “I’m free for that drink,” she said. “But I don’t want a drink. Tell your brother to buy me a book instead.” Turning over the napkin, she pointed to where she’d written in red ink the title of the next text she had to read for class.

Dr. Odinson looked up at her, giving her a slow smile.

“That can be arranged.”

 


	2. Can't Say Anything to Your Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment or kudos. You all made my day!

Loki sat at his kitchen table reading the local news on his phone, remembering how his father used to sit at the table every morning, sipping tea and reading a newspaper. As a child, Loki tried to imitate the man, but with a mug of cocoa, imagining he’d grow up to be just like Odin. Back then he still idolized his father, didn’t know he was adopted, and couldn’t fathom a world where everything was digital. Such simple times.

Now it was evening and Thor was sitting across the table from him, staring intently. Loki continued ignoring his brother, pretending he cared deeply about the local high school’s football team, even though the Americans grossly misused the word _football_. He knew what Thor wanted to discuss, and Loki had no interest in pursuing that line of thought. It was fruitless.

“Brother,” Thor started, but Loki didn’t let him continue.

“Can you believe this rubbish?” he asked, pointing at his screen. “The Knights actually let their kicker attempt a field goal, despite his ankle being cracked!”

“Do you even know what a field goal is?” Thor asked, amused.

Loki scoffed. “It’s a goal. Kicked from the field.”

“All right, that was obvious,” Thor said. “But I don’t want to talk sports. How about--”

“I’m glad you’re bringing this up,” Loki said, setting down his phone.

“You are?” Thor asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Loki said. “I’ve been wanting to discuss my decision not to include _Oedipus Rex_ in this semester’s required reading. I know Aristophanes is a genius when it comes to humor, but is it really necessary to include four of his plays at the expense of Oedipus? I also had to drop _Antigone_ as we did not read the prequel, and--”

“If you say Iphigenia, I’ll come over there and sit on you,” Thor threatened.

“Ismene,” Loki taunted. Thor growled; Loki gave him a self-satisfied smirk.

“I mean Sif, brother," Thor said. "You’re clearly attracted to her, I think she’s grand, and she’s single. Jump on that before someone else does.”

Sometimes Loki envied Thor’s ability to find the simplest solution and actually believe it viable. The world was black and white to him, and if something felt too grey, he pulled out a sharpie and coloured it in so it fit his world view. Loki, having spent most of his life in a grey patch, struggled to believe black and white existed in the first place. “She’s a student, Thor. It would be wildly inappropriate.”

“She said she isn’t,” Thor said.

“Yes, and when a potato that’s been grown in the ground, harvested in Idaho, and purchased in the potato section of the grocer’s, tells me it’s a carrot, I believe it.”

Thor grinned at him. “See? Your judgment is suspect at best if you talk to vegetables.”

“Potatoes are starches.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Thor said, leaning back in his chair. If he leaned much further, he was going to topple over, and as amusing as Loki would find that, if Thor broke another of his chairs he was going to murder his brother. “Sif says she isn’t a student, so maybe you ought to listen."

Loki arched one dark brow. “She attends my class, purchases the texts I require, though she acquires them at the local bookstore and not the campus bookstore, and she comes to office hours. Student.”

“She comes to office hours,” Thor said. “ _Not_ a student. Nobody attends office hours for a general literature class! As she is no simpleton, I say she’s trying to spend time with you.”

Loki was loathe to admit he’d considered that angle, but it did not do to overthink a theory he had no evidence to support. Not that it mattered; she had just ended a lengthy relationship, and was not ready to jump into a new one, even if he was willing to overlook that she was a student. “If you put half this much effort into your own love life, you’d be married by now,” Loki said, standing to take his tea cup to the sink. “What ever happened with that medical intern?”  

Thor’s answer was lost as he tipped too far back and crashed to the floor. Loki winced; he’d have to inspect the structural integrity of the chair once his brother left.

With a groan, Thor heaved himself up, supporting his weight on Loki’s new granite counter top. “Oh, that hurts so much more than it did ten years ago,” Thor said, knuckling the small of his back. “Bloody hell, Loki; is your floor make of concrete?”

“You’re the one with the concrete evidence,” Loki said, and Thor laughed.

“That wasn’t half as funny as you thought,” Thor said, though his grin belied his words. Loki merely shrugged.

He kicked his brother out after that, retreating to bed to review tomorrow’s lecture material. Loki struggled to concentrate, his mind wandering to to a bright and intelligent young lady he found more attractive than he should. Her visits during office hours had quickly become his favorite time of the week. She had a quick wit and wasn’t afraid to fight with him, a rarity amongst the usual toadies attempting to curry his favor in a vain attempt to raise their grade without actually doing the work. If Loki believed in assigning grades based on liking a student, he’d pass Sif with flying colors for being willing to tell him he was wrong. If she hadn’t already attracted his attention by being the only student taking notes by hand, her audacity in flouncing into his office and declaring Achilles a second-rate crybaby who couldn’t measure up to Hector would have done it. A woman with a mind of her own _and_ who had read _The Iliad_? Even if she had the wrong opinion, it was the most attractive thing Loki’d ever come across.

He was almost tempted to ask his teaching assistant for a copy of her papers, a first for Loki Odinson. The only thing stopping him was the worry that if he asked for one paper, the undergrads might try and foist several off on him to grade. Sif’s analysis might be interesting to read, but he’d sew his own lips shut before reading the drivel most undergrads considered acceptable university-level writing.

Loki wished Sif wasn’t a student. He wouldn’t waste a moment in asking her to dinner if there wasn’t an ethical issue at hand.

With a sigh, Loki returned to his lecture. It would not do to dwell on the matter. If she was still unattached at the end of the semester and seemed even remotely interested, he’d broach the subject then. For now, he’d settle for reviewing Aristophanes. 

*

It wasn’t every day Loki’s lecture was interrupted by office staff--in fact, it had never happened. He gave the mousy girl a look of cool disdain. She may have to interrupt his magnificent lecture on the importance of not pissing off the local poets, but she should feel the burden of shame in so doing.

The terrified secretary handed him a note scrawled on a bright pink sticky note:

_your brother’s been hit by a car_  
_St. Eir’s Hospital rm 4115  
_ _in surgery_

Loki uttered a long-suffering sigh. Couldn’t the child read her own handwriting? Thor was in surgery, therefore not in immediate need of attention. She could have waited to give Loki the note until _after_ his class was over. “Thank you,” he said in his best imitation of one Severus Snape. The girl squeaked and scurried out of the auditorium. Well. At least that was satisfying.

What had Thor done now to land himself in the hospital? It was a bit ironic, considering he was a doctor. Loki sighed; he’d been hoping to catch Sif after class with some ridiculous excuse he’d craft on the spot, but now he needed to to go to the hospital. Perhaps when Thor awoke from his anaesthetic-induced nap, Loki could dramatically inform him he’d single-handedly ruined Loki’s only chance to ask Sif out.

Cheering up, Loki finished his lecture. He didn’t speak with Sif, but did exchange eye contact and a brief smile, which he supposed would have to tide him over until office hours.

At the hospital, Loki was directed to a waiting room, where he encountered an agitated young woman and what looked like her self-satisfied sidekick arguing over the merits of continued waiting. Sitting in a corner, Loki ignored them as he pulled out his laptop to review the paper he was editing to submit to a journal for peer review.

His writing partner, Dr. Hogun, worked across the country. They’d attended grad school together; Loki had hated him on sight, and the feeling was mutual. Unfortunately, all that negative passion served them well when writing research papers, and they maintained a hostile working relationship that was making a name for them in the field of classic literature. Dr. Hogun had returned Loki’s last draft with 287 comments “for improvement.” Loki now had to go through and refute every point, reminding Hogun that he was an insipid pillock who only made it as far in academia as he had thanks to Loki Odinson.

Loki smiled. This was his favorite part of the job.

“Excuse me,” the agitated woman interrupted Loki’s work. “Can you tell me what time it is? I lost my phone and Darcy says I need to ‘chill the hell out and wait like a normal person’ and won’t tell me.”

“Because it won’t kill you to sit still for a minute,” the sidekick said. “Or it might, but we’re in a hospital, so this is a great time to run that experiment.”

The agitated woman turned to her sidekick. “I do not overwork myself.”

“Clearly you do,” Sidekick said, “or you’d maybe know one of your colleagues and not interrupt Dr. Odinson while he’s concentrating. He’s scary. I hear he eats babies for breakfast.”

That piqued Loki’s attention; he loved it when his reputation preceded him. “Colleague?” he asked, looking with renewed interest at the agitated woman. “You also work at Gladsheim U?”

She tucked her brown hair behind both ears, worrying at her lip with her teeth. “I’m in the Physics department,” she said. “Theoretical physics, trying to break into experimental physics. Jane is my name. Jane Foster. Darcy is my intern.”

So the sidekick really was a sidekick. “Loki Odinson,” Loki said. “Classics PhD, though I double majored in physics in my undergrad.”

A new light entered Dr. Foster’s eyes, and suddenly she was considering him. “Physics _and_ classics?” she said. “I’d love to pick your brain sometime on the connection between mythology and magical anomalies and how they relate to observed physical phenomena and theoretical--”

“Good grief, Jane,” Sidekick interrupted. “We’re in a hospital because you ran over a linebacker. Take a pause from the science.”

Fascinating. So this woman was the reason Loki was here. “I didn’t run him over,” Dr. Foster said unconvincingly. “He ran into my van. Huge difference.”

“And yet my brother is now in surgery because of you,” Loki said, very much enjoying Dr. Foster’s widening eyes as she made his connection to Thor. “So it doesn’t really matter if he ran into you--debatable--or if you ran into him--presumable.”

Dr. Foster collapsed into a chair, draping her arm over her eyes. “This day is not going my way,” she said.

“I’ll say,” Darcy said. “Coffee? Everyone? Black? On it,” and she slipped out.

Closing his laptop, Loki perched his chin on his hand as he observed Dr. Foster. “So,” he said. “You ran over my brother.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jane said. “Not that anyone ever means to. He was just….” she trailed off, peeking around her arm at Loki. “Never mind. I won’t do you the indignity of lying. I saw him coming and was completely distracted because your brother made my pulse race and lit my blood on fire, so while I was staring at him my hands steered my van in his direction and now we’re here.”

He probably shouldn’t laugh; Thor was in surgery, after all. But the idea of Thor being in surgery because he distracted a woman into running him over was a priceless vision, one Loki would treasure for years to come. “Assuming my brother doesn’t die from your gross ineptitude, this will be a story for the ages,” Loki told the distressed Dr. Foster. “I will never let him live it down. We’ll be aged with dementia, and I’ll still bring it up daily.”

“I am sooo sorry,” Dr. Foster said.

They lapsed into silence, Dr. Foster wallowing in her personal misery, so Loki returned to his work. Feeling invigorated by his discussion with Dr. Foster, he had several snarky comments perched at the tip of his tongue awaiting Dr. Hogun’s ears.

It was another half hour before a doctor arrived to report on Thor. As he was all smiles, Loki felt the little worry he’d partitioned for his brother seep away. “Thor is doing fine,” the doctor started, immediately getting interrupted by Dr. Foster’s loud “oh thank goodness.” The doctor turned to face her, taking in her worry, and said, “Are you Mr. Odinson’s wife?”

Loki smirked widely as Dr. Foster sat straight up, face going bright red. “What? No! Definitely not! Not that being his wife is a bad thing, but that is not who I am, so no, very no.” If it was possible, she turned even redder.

The long lost sidekick returned, hands suspiciously empty of coffee. “Yeah, Jane, when you talk like that, nobody believes you aren’t in love with him,” she said, sidling over to Dr. Foster.

“I can’t be in love with him,” Dr. Foster said. “I haven’t even met him.”

The poor doctor looked confused. “Then what are you doing here?”

“She’s the reason Thor is in here,” Loki cheerfully supplied. With a groan, Dr. Foster slunk down in her chair.

The doctor, clearly not understanding what was going on, proceeded to update them on Thor’s condition. Surgery had gone well, his two broken bones were set, and he had woken from the sedative and was asking after his brother. Informing Dr. Foster it had been a delight to meet her, Loki packed up his makeshift work space and went to follow the doctor. The doorway was blocked, however, when Sif, of all people, came sprinting through. What was she doing here?

Had she come to check on Thor? Loki tried to feel grateful she cared, but mostly he just succeeded in feeling bitter.

Except she hadn’t noticed him, making a beeline to the Sidekick.

“Darcy! What happened?”

The sidekick jerked her thumb at Dr. Foster. “My interning professor ran over a hot dude, and we’re here feeling guilty about it.”

The doctor tried to get Loki to follow him, but he held up his hand. He was deeply curious over the unfolding events, and wished he was better positioned to see Sif’s face. “ _What_?” Sif said sharply, then held up her two pointer fingers in a pausing motion. “No, we’ll come back to that in a second. I want to know why you sent me a 911 text if you aren’t dying? I nearly killed myself getting here!”

Sidekick shrugged. “I said there was a 911 situation, not that I was the 911. And I need a ride home, anyway.”

Sif dropped her paused fingers, shaking her head. “Darce, next time, type _I’m fine_ at the beginning of the text.” She turned toward Dr. Foster, sticking out her hand. “Hi, I’m Sif, Darcy’s roommate.” Roommate? What were the chances? How intertwined his life was becoming with Sif’s.

“Jane Foster,” Dr. Foster said, shaking the proffered hand. “I’m the moron who hit Dr. Odinson’s brother.”

“Dr. Odin--” Sif started, half turning towards Loki, but then she yo-yoed back to Dr. Foster. “His _brother_? You hit _Thor?”_

“You’ve met our victim!” Sidekick said. “That’s great. Maybe you can get Jane an introduction; she’s kind of infatuated.”

“I’m getting a new intern tomorrow,” Dr. Foster said, but Sidekick paid her no mind.

“Actually, it’s kind of weird that you met your professor’s brother,” Sidekick said, eyebrows going up speculatively. “What have you and the good professor been up to?”

And that was precisely why Loki would not date a student. Five minutes spent in the same room together, not even acknowledging each other, and already inappropriate insinuations were being tossed about.

Sif’s body language indicated similar thoughts, and her tone was a touch acerbic as she said, “Thor is the reason Haldor and I broke up.”

Dr. Foster sent a sharp look Sif’s way as Sidekick’s eyes bulged. “You and Muscles? You dumped Haldor for him?” Sidekick nodded appreciatively. “Nice.” Loki did not take it personally that Sidekick thought Sif and Thor made a striking couple while she thought he and Sif were worthy of the gossip rag. He didn’t. To prove it, he motioned the doctor onward, but the man shook his head.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “I want to see the end of this.”

Loki didn’t, so he sidestepped the man and found his own way to Thor’s room.

His brother was awake, if not exactly alert, though he was wearing his trademark dopey grin. Loki had been telling Thor for years that it made him look less clever than he actually was, but Thor didn’t seem to care.

“Loki!” Thor boomed, forgetting again to use his inside voice. Or perhaps that was just the drugs speaking. “You’re here! I was hit by an angel, you know.” Yes, definitely the drugs.

“Your accident was most untimely,” Loki said, sliding into a chair next to the bed. “It interrupted my one and only chance to ask out the girl I fancy.”

“Not so!” cried Thor, suddenly deeply distressed. “Sif will let you have another chance, I’m sure of it!” But he didn’t look sure as tears welled up in his eyes. Fantastic. A weepy brother who loudly announced to the hospital that Loki was sweet on a woman standing in the waiting room was absolutely his favorite thing.

“Lower your voice or I’m leaving,” Loki said.

“But it is lowered,” Thor whimpered, still sounding like a thundercloud.

A knock on the door frame drew Loki’s attention to the three women from the waiting room. Sif had a smile on her face, Sidekick looked creepily delighted, and Dr. Foster was once again worrying her lip. Loki prayed to any god that was listening that they hadn’t overheard Thor’s comment about Sif.

“Look!” Thor cried, pointing excitedly. “It’s my angel! And your angel!”

Bloody hell. Loki needed to get the man to shut up before he said something that couldn’t be unsaid.

“Wow, he’s doped up,” Sif said. Or perhaps Loki could just play everything off as Thor being stoned out of his mind.

Thor waved enthusiastically. “Bar Girl!” he said. “ _Iliad_ Reader! Not Student! Sif!”

“Oh yeah, he’s high,” Sif said.

Thor pointed at his leg. “I got hit by an angel.” He pointed to Dr. Foster. “She’s the angel.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Sif said, a smile on her lips.

Sidekick urged the other two women into the room, and they surrounded Thor’s bed, Sif and Sidekick cooing over him while Dr. Foster tried to melt into the ground. Loki sat back, doing his best to once again not resent his brother for hogging all the female attention. Thor didn’t do it maliciously, especially not when he was coming off whatever anaesthetic he’d had, but it still irked Loki that Sif, whom Thor’d only met the once, was focusing all her attention on Thor while she had yet to say hello to Loki.

It was beginning to occur to Loki that whatever attraction he held for the bright young woman might be one-sided. He sighed; of course. Or perhaps the interest he’d initially perceived had been transferred to his brother upon their meeting. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Loki wasn’t so magnanimous that he could sit back and watch the woman he fancied fawn over his brother, so he made his excuses, assuring a suddenly weepy Thor that he was in better hands with the three women than he would be with Loki, and he’d check in on him tomorrow. Multiple tears of gratitude rolled down Thor’s cheeks at that. Loki found such obvious displays of emotion distasteful. With a roll of his eyes, he abandoned his brother to feminine hands and returned home.

And if he needed to drown his sorrows in half a bottle of bourbon before retiring to bed, well, at least he held more control of his faculties than his brother.

*


	3. Making Me Feel This Way

Fear sat heavy in Sif’s stomach as she stood at the end of the hallway leading to Dr. Odinson’s office. Running into him in the hospital had surprised her, and rather than be a normal person about it and say something like _hi_ , she’d fallen into old habits when facing someone she was interested in and completely ignored him. If I don’t say hi to you, you can’t not like me! It was extremely high school and made her feel about 14 years old, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

The fact that he hadn’t acknowledged her at all didn’t help, and his abrupt departure convinced Sif interacting with him was a bad idea.

She’d seriously debated not coming to office hours, but she did have questions about the reading, and she liked spending time with the good professor, and if this was the only way she could do it...well, she’d better take advantage, because she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore once the semester ended, anyway.

It was a good thing he didn’t like her. She’d just ended things with Haldor, and starting anything new would only be a rebound relationship. It wouldn’t mean anything. And anyway, there was that ex-fiancée Sif didn’t have the guts to ask about. Exes could be touchy subjects, and it’s not like she and Dr. Odinson were actually friends. She couldn’t even convince herself to use his first name, for crying out loud.

(She definitely didn’t whisper it to herself late at night, when no one could hear, where she couldn’t pull Dr. Odinson’s wrath down on her like Harry Potter saying Voldemort’s name in the seventh book. Using it once in front of him at the bar would have to be enough to last her a lifetime. She figured she was lucky to get out of that situation unscathed.)

Office hours had started ten minutes ago, and she was still standing down the hallway. No fewer than eleven people had passed by her, asking if she needed any help. The honest answer was yes, she needed a lot of it, could you please be my proxy and speak to Dr. Odinson on my behalf? But she’d politely turned everyone away by informing them she was gathering the courage to speak to the fearsome professor. More than one person had laughed, especially once they realized she was serious.

For Pete’s sake, she was a thirty-one year old woman; she could talk to a man only one year her senior.

Squaring her shoulders, Sif strode purposefully toward Dr. Odinson’s door. She would not let her growing attraction to the man keep her from speaking to him.

Approaching his door, Sif pulled up short. _There was somebody else in the office with him_. Some young thing, probably barely out of high school, was sitting in Sif’s chair, gesturing animatedly between her computer screen and Dr. Odinson. This had to be a sign from the cosmos, telling Sif she was devoting too much time to a class she wasn’t actually taking (but dammit she was really interested in, curse Darcy). An actual student had an actual question, so Sif should turn on her heel and return to her life of sipping wine and watching Netflix, instead of thinking about blue eyes and Greek literature.

But that was the coward’s way out, and Sif was done being cowardly. She’d stayed with Haldor longer than she should have because she was afraid of facing life without someone familiar by her side. She was _not_ going to let some pubescent prevent her from acquiring the education she wasn’t paying for!

As she entered the office, Dr. Odinson raised his eyes to meet hers. Boredom was scrawled across his face, but upon seeing her, life seemed to return to him. Butterflies tingled in her stomach, which Sif quickly squashed. She was not here to look at him! She was here to learn!

(Lies, lies, lies.)

(Well, half lies.)

The girl sitting in front of Dr. Odinson’s desk turned toward Sif as she entered and pointed at her. “You tell him his grading practices are ridiculous! I worked hard, and I need a good grade!”

Sif shrugged, grabbing a chair next to the girl. “I don’t look at grades,” she said, a completely true statement. “I’m here to learn, not get an A. If they go hand in hand, great, but if not, so long as I’ve learned what I’m supposed to, it’s been a successful class.”

The girl looked at Sif like she’d gone crazy. “Don’t you want to get into grad school?” she demanded.

Again, Sif shrugged. “Not unless I have to,” she said. She’d considered an MBA, but decided she was done with homework and tests and wanted to make money instead. Grad school was for people who hated themselves and loved debt--an opinion she maybe shouldn’t share with the PhD sitting in front of her.

Gratefully, the girl huffed and stood up. “Well, you can be poor forever,” the girl said, “but I want to be rich.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Sif said, “but good grades in an entry level lit class won’t translate to money. Get a real degree in business or science.”

“A real degree?” Dr. Odinson interrupted. “Study of the human condition will get you farther than study of business.”

“Not monetarily,” she said. “I bet I make more than you.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

“Have you ever noticed the only people who say that are poor?” Not that she had a lot of room to talk, as she was feeling pretty poor herself, what with most of her paycheck going to Heimdall’s rehab. Maybe Sif should have gotten that MBA after all.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not poor.”

Sif was not ashamed to admit hearing a man say that made her ovaries jump. A steady job that undoubtedly had a retirement package and excellent benefits? Sif almost swooned. Haldor had a job, sure, but he spent money as soon as he made it, and thought retirement was for people dumb enough to live that long. Dr. Odinson’s attractiveness just shot through the roof, and Sif had to put concerted effort into not fanning herself.

“So anyway,” she said, voice just a titch higher than normal, “I’ve got a question about ‘The Frogs’...”

The girl left at some point, but Sif didn’t notice, and no one else intruded upon Dr. Odinson’s office hours as they discussed the finer points of Aristophanes’ satire.

Sif left with a wide smile on her face. She didn’t know what she’d been afraid of.

*

In Mid-October, Dr. Odinson made the mistake of asking if there were any questions. He didn’t often ask for them, informing the students if he wanted their opinions he’d actually read their essays, but this was a rare occasion where the lecture ended five minutes early, and he allowed them to wow him with their intellect (Sif was beginning to wonder if the man had any friends).

One of the undergrads raised his hand and asked the one question everyone wanted an answer to, but were too afraid to ask:

“What happened to your fiancée?”

A hush fell over all present as they stared at the professor, waiting with bated breath for his response. Sif craned her neck to see around the tall kid sitting in front of her, deeply invested in the answer.

Dr. Odinson stared down the question-asker, then very deliberately walked to the whiteboard and picked up the eraser. Turning around, he lobbed it at the kid and roared, “Why would you ask after pointless interpersonal relations when you could ask after the meaninglessness of Odysseus in his own story when Telemachus is clearly the superior specimen of manhood?”

The room emptied in seconds.

What had that woman done to Dr. Odinson? From his reaction, Sif could only guess that it was serious, and she knew how long it could take to overcome heartbreak. Her good friend back in college, Volstagg, dated a girl for seven years who dumped him the week before their wedding. It was another four years before he would even consider going on a date.

Sif thought she was pretty patient, but she wasn’t four years patient. When had this fiancée broken his heart? How soon would it be before Dr. Odinson was ready to dive back into the dating scene? Because she may not be four years patient, but she might be three years patient.

Honestly, it made her angry that she considered waiting at all. What happened to the good old days when she could move on from a man the second he wasn’t available? Why did she want to wait at all for this one? It’s not like she needed a man!

And she didn’t.

But that didn’t stop her from wanting.

More than one plate got broken as Sif angrily washed dishes. “What did the plates ever do to you?” Darcy finally asked, and since Sif had no answer that didn’t make her look ridiculous, she just quietly seethed and bought a new set of plates.

There was an obvious answer to her dilemma: stop attending Darcy’s class for her. Let the child flunk on her own. Yet… Yet every time she went to tell Darcy this was for sure the last time Sif was taking notes for her, Sif remembered the easy camaraderie she and Dr. Odinson had, remembered how much she was actually enjoying his lectures on Greek literature, remembered that his office hours were the brightest point in her week.

Curse Darcy.

Only twice more had other students tried to interrupt office hours. Once Sif walked in on some kid trying to sweet talk his way out of a bad grade, but he left pretty quickly once he had an audience. The second time, the student wanted clarification on something Dr. Odinson said in class. Sif was already in his office and refused to leave, which seemed to annoy the girl. Sif wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t want to announce her ignorance to an eavesdropper, or if she was trying to do what Sif was doing and was unhappy with her lack of success. Either way, Sif didn’t care, because she wasn’t about to give up the only time she had with Dr. Odinson.

The visits always started with an actual question about class, but it didn’t take long for their discussions to veer away from academia. Dr. Odinson updated her on his brother, who was recovering nicely, helped, Dr. Odinson supposed, by the constant presence of Darcy’s other professor. Apparently Dr. Foster and Thor were quite taken with each other, and took the car incident as a fated meeting. Sif wasn’t sure what to think about that. She didn’t think she could fall in love with someone who hit her with a moving vehicle, but then the traitorous part of her mind suggested that maybe she could, if Loki Odinson was the one behind the wheel.

That always prompted her to change the subject.

*

The week of Thanksgiving was turning out to be a disappointment. Sure, Sif knew school would be out for the holiday, but somehow she hadn’t made the connection in her head that that meant Dr. Odinson wouldn’t be holding office hours. She moped through work all Monday and Tuesday, only perking up at home when Darcy came through the door, and only to avoid unwanted questions. The last thing she wanted was for her roommate to realize Sif was in love with Darcy’s professor.

Tuesday evening, after Sif settled on the couch to read _The Aeneid_ (“Not Greek, but worth the read to understand how the Romans plagiarized their conquered countrymen”), Darcy bounced into the room, her phone to her ear.

“Your parents are dead and your brother’s in rehab, right?” she asked.

Technically at this point Heimdall was in a halfway house, but as Darcy couldn’t be bothered to remember that, Sif didn’t feel like explaining it again. “Sure,” she said.

“Then you’re coming to Thanksgiving with me, yeah?”

It’s not like she had anything better to do, and eating with Darcy’s relatives would certainly be a better use of her time than wondering what Dr. Odinson was doing good heavens Sif had a problem.

“Absolutely,” she said firmly, shoving the professor from her mind.

“Yeah, she’s coming,” Darcy said into her phone, retreating back into her room, where she was doing something something something for Dr. Foster (all right, maybe Sif also had a listening/remembering problem).

Thanksgiving dinner was at 2, but they had to be there by noon just because. Sif took time to do her hair and makeup and pulled on something nice, but not fancy, so she could fit into a formal dinner or a casual dinner, which, weirdly, Darcy didn’t know which it would be. Growing up, Sif’s family had always been jeans-and-t-shirts-while-watching-football kinds of people, but she knew there were other theoretical people who wore dresses and suits. It seemed pointless to her, especially pulling out fancy china and crystal goblets. When feeding that much food to that many people, paper plates was the only way to go.

She grabbed a bottle of wine for Darcy’s mom and headed out with her roommate. To her surprise, they didn’t pile into Darcy’s car, but walked. “It’s just a few blocks over,” Darcy explained, buttoning her coat closed against the chilly breeze.

“I didn’t know your parents lived in town,” Sif said, wishing she’d worn her windbreaker instead of her thick sweater coat.

“My parents?” Darcy asked, looking at Sif askance. “They’re batshit crazy, Sif. We’d be better off eating out of the sewer than Thanksgiving it up with them. No, we’re going to Jane’s. I have it on good authority she makes a mean green bean casserole.”

They were eating with Jane Foster? Well, it still beat eating TV dinners alone while binging Netflix.

At Dr. Foster’s, Darcy let them in without knocking, where they were greeted by an enchanting British accent yelling, “We aren’t even American!”

Sif froze in the act of pulling off her sweater. That was Dr. Odinson’s voice. Dr. Odinson, whose brother was dating Dr. Foster. Dr. Odinson, who Sif was busy _not_ crushing on (lies lies lies) because he had relationship hangups. Dr. Odinson, who she was also busy not thinking about because she had a life!

As if. Him being here made this the best Thanksgiving ever.

“Did you know the Odinsons were coming?” Sif asked Darcy as they hung up their coats.

“Yeah,” she said. “Jane and Thor have been kind of inseparable since he got out of the hospital. It was either have them over or us go to Dr. Odinson’s house, and there’s no way I’m eating at my professor’s house.”

“Dr. Foster is also your professor and this is her house.”

“Her name is Jane, and this is an apartment, not a house. Huge difference.”

Shaking her head, Sif followed the young woman into the kitchen, where Dr. Odinson and his brother were busy yelling at each other over a turkey while Dr. Foster wiped tears of laughter from her cheeks. Dr. Odinson’s face was red and puckered with scowls, while Thor’s was red with laughter and delight. Thor was propped up with a set of crutches, and Dr. Odinson was gesticulating with a carving knife.

“Ho, losers, the party’s arrived,” Darcy said, announcing their entrance. Dr. Odinson’s eyes swung to meet Sif’s, dropping his knife with a clatter. Sif smiled widely at him and waved.

He scowled at her. “Why do you Americans need a day to celebrate gratitude? Why can’t you be grateful every day of the year like the rest of the world?”

“We’ve celebrated Thanksgiving every year since we moved here, brother,” Thor said, clapping Dr. Odinson on the shoulder. “And I think being grateful could do you some good.” As Dr. Odinson moved to wash his hands, he hissed something at his brother that Sif was fairly certain was a Greek insult from _The Iliad_. Thor laughed it off and turned to Sif. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” he said, smiling so widely Sif feared his face would crack in half. “Hear anything from that boyfriend of yours?”

“Still boyfriend-free,” she said, decidedly not shooting a look at Dr. Odinson. “I hear you’ve found someone special.”

Thor turned his smile to Dr. Foster, who looked equally smitten. “Getting hit by her van is the best thing that’s happened to me,” he said fondly. Dr. Odinson made a gagging noise, which Sif dutifully snickered at. “Laugh all you want, brother,” Thor said cheerfully. “We all know you could remedy your situation any time you want.”

“Piss off,” Dr. Odinson said.

“Loki has a point, dear,” Jane said, reaching over to pat Thor’s hand. “Leave him alone.”

“All right,” Thor said. “Loki, Sif, you just got relegated to mashed potato duty.”

“What?” Sif said. “How did I get roped into this?”

“I’m injured, Jane needs to cuddle me into healing properly, and Darcy is rubbish in the kitchen.”

That much, at least, was true. The most complicated thing Darcy had cooked in their kitchen was microwaved ramen, and it had been accompanied by a healthy dose of whining. Sif was sure she didn’t want to eat anything Darcy helped prepare. “Fine,” she said, holding up her bottle of wine, “but Dr. Odinson and I get a jumpstart on this.”

“It’s Thanksgiving and we’re all equals here,” Jane said. “I’m Jane and he’s Loki, and there’s no arguing. Agree to that, and you can drink the whole bottle.”

“Assuming it’s palatable,” Dr. Odinson said, not fighting Jane’s edicts on names. Sif’s heart did a little tumble. She’d cook the whole of Thanksgiving dinner if she got to say Dr. Odinson’s name to his face.

Loki. It rolled around delightfully on her tongue; she couldn’t wait to put it to use.

Dr. Odinson--Loki--ushered the others out of the kitchen. “Remember Sif’s _my_ date,” Darcy informed him on her way out. “Take good care of her.” He muttered something in response too low for Sif to hear, making Darcy laugh.

Locating the wine glasses, Sif poured a splash into each, not wanting either of them to get drunk or even buzzed. This was a moment she wanted them both to remember for a long time to come.

Sif may have been commanded by Jane to use Dr. Odinson’s given name, but when it came to actually doing it, she found she didn’t want to make the attempt without his permission. Handing him his wine glass, she said started with, “Dr. Odinson--”

He cut her off. “I do believe the lady of the house has issued an edict regarding given names, and I would be remiss in my duty as a guest if I did not acquiesce. Loki, please.”

A slow smile curled Sif’s lips. “Loki, then,” she said, feeling a thrill at using his name. “Have you ever made mashed potatoes?”

“Yes,” he said, tasting his wine before setting it on the counter. “I find the deliciousness of mashed potatoes directly correlates to the amount of dairy one adds.”

“Agreed. I only like my taters when they’re fifty percent tater and fifty percent cow.”

Loki washed the potatoes and Sif cut them before putting them on the stove to boil. Not knowing how else to start a conversation with this man, Sif began asking questions about class, which he dutifully answered. Falling into old habits, they quickly cleared the topic of Greek literature and moved on to other matters. He queried after her family, and she shared with him her brother’s drug addictions and her parents’ deaths. His parents were in England at the moment, leaving him and Thor to fend for themselves, which he didn’t mind as he didn’t view Thanksgiving as an important holiday. His mother was overjoyed at Jane’s presence in Thor’s life, which, after a moment of prodding, Loki admitted he was, too, if just to get the marriage pressure off himself. However, the softening of his eyes told Sif just how pleased he was his brother had found someone. She wondered what it would take to get that look directed her way.

They chatted amiably about the Macy’s parade, which they’d both watched that morning. After they finished discussing the newest cartoon balloons they were too old to recognize, conversation stagnated as they watched the potatoes boil. For a brief horrifying moment, Sif worried they didn’t actually have anything to say to one another, and all their easy conversation up to this point had only happened because of Greek literature. But that was ridiculous, because for weeks now they’d been talking about everything under the sun during office hours. In fact, office hours were becoming less and less like office hours and more and more like two friends hanging out.

Surely this pause in the conversation was simply due to nerves. Nerves on her end, anyway; she didn’t know if anything made Dr. Odinson--Loki--nervous. But, well, if she ever wanted things to go anywhere with him, she was going to have to learn to talk to him outside of an academic setting, unless she intended all of their potential dates to take place in his office.

Thankfully, he initiated the next conversation. “Did you know about this dinner last week when we were chatting?” he asked.

Sif looked on in confusion. “Yes, I knew it was Thanksgiving this week,” she said slowly.

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you knew it was Thanksgiving. Every student’s internal clock is set to the next break from school.” That was true enough, or at least it had been when Sif was in college. She imagined it was still the same a decade later. “I meant dinner at Jane’s. Did you know about it?”

“I only got invited on Tuesday,” Sif said. “Honestly, until about an hour ago, I thought Darcy was taking me to her parents’ house.” She couldn't interpret the look on his face, but enjoyed the act of trying. She was sure she wouldn’t mind looking at him for hours.

He changed the subject abruptly. “Tell me, how did you end up with a twenty-year-old for a roommate?”

So maybe she hadn’t told him everything about Heimdall’s addiction. “She answered the ad,” Sif said honestly, not wanting to admit that she was strapped for cash. “It’s nice having someone around the apartment, and I like telling Darcy what to do.” Though sometimes it felt more like Darcy was telling Sif what to do. That was, after all, how she’d ended up in Dr. Odinson’s class in the first place.

Loki. Loki’s class. And there was that stupid grin again.

“You wouldn’t rather live alone?” Loki asked.

Sif shrugged. “It’s nice living alone, but it’s also nice living with someone.”

“You didn’t wait very long after breaking up with your boyfriend to find a new roommate.”

“Oh no, Haldor and I didn’t live together.” Because he was a slob. Because he drank too much. Because between living with him and living with a twenty-year-old, Sif chose the child. “It just wasn’t a thing we did.”

He was quiet a moment, grabbing a fork to poke at the potatoes. “And now? Are you enjoying not being attached?”

She’d probably enjoy it a lot more if she didn’t spend every waking moment thinking about Loki. “For now,” she said. “Taking a break has been good. Honestly, I always thought I’d be more upset if I broke up with Haldor, but it hasn’t been that bad.” Hadn’t been bad at all, really. She wondered what the difference would be if Haldor had dumped her when she was still violently in love with him. How badly would that have hurt?

“Consider yourself lucky,” Loki said, his voice dry.

She knew she should take this seriously, but couldn’t resist saying, “You handled your bad breakup with the grace of Achilles?”

Loki’s eyes widened a fraction before he chuckled. “Oh, I’d say Achilles handled Agamemnon stealing Briseis from him with far more grace than I handled anything.” Considering the entirety of _The Iliad_ happened because Achilles went crying to his mommy over his leader stealing his woman, Sif wasn’t quite sure she believed Loki.

“Did you back out of a war and sweet talk your mother into sweet talking the gods to let your enemies win just to spite your general?” she asked skeptically, and he gave her a real laugh.

“No, but I did go crying to my mum and pitched quite the fit.”

Sif would pay good money to see Loki “pitch a fit,” as he put it. He always seemed so in control of himself. Well, except perhaps for when he lost his cool over questions about his fiancée. So maybe she could picture it after all.

“But time can eventually heal us all,” Loki said, and again Sif wondered just how much time he needed. “I think the potatoes are done.”

Grabbing a sieve, Sif drained the potatoes in the sink, then relocated them to a bowl. Loki located an electric mixer and pulled out every dairy item in Jane’s fridge. It was quick work to mash up the potatoes and add butter, milk, sour cream, and ranch dressing, with a generous helping of salt and pepper. Without thinking, Sif scooped up a spoonful of the potatoes and offered them to Loki, who ate them straight from her hand. Fortunately he turned away before her face went red, giving her a moment to collect herself. He added extra butter and sour cream, and this time he offered her a taste. Oh boy. This was not helping her constitution.

Pretending everything was perfectly normal, Sif declared the potatoes acceptable and hollered at the living room dwellers that the potatoes were finished.

Jane pulled out all the food while Loki set the table. They used fine china instead of paper plates, though the TV was on in the background as Thor watched a football game. It felt just enough like home that Sif felt content.

Excusing herself, Sif stepped into the hallway to call her brother before dinner. She and Heimdall hadn’t been close in years, not since he started using, but she tried to call him on all the major holidays and each of their birthdays.

“I had a vision you were with a man,” Heimdall greeted her.

“A vision?” she asked carefully. Had he regressed?

“Dream, vision,” Heimdall said dismissively. “Are you still with that lump of human excrement you call a boyfriend?”

It took Sif a moment to remember Heimdall was asking about Haldor, not Loki. Heimdall didn’t even know about Loki. Not that there was anything to know, so there wasn’t anything to tell. “I broke up with him,” she said.

“Did he cheat on you?”

“Yes.”

“I told you he would.”

She sighed. “Dinner’s about to start. I just wanted to call and wish you a happy Thanksgiving.”

He was quiet a moment, then said softly, “Love you too, sis.”

Tears welled up in Sif’s eyes. It had been years since she’d heard him say that. “Love you, too,” she choked out and hung up.

Her relationship with her brother was nothing like Loki’s and Thor’s relationship. Any ease between the two of them had long since disappeared, and she saw Heimdall only slightly more frequently than she got a pap smear. There was nothing for them to joke about or tease each other over, and any fond memories from childhood were buried so deep under baggage it wasn’t worth it to dredge them up. All the same, Sif loved her brother, and hearing him say he loved her, too, reminded her how strong family bonds actually were. She ought to find time in her schedule to go visit Heimdall. Perhaps she could work something out for Christmas. She’d like that, and maybe, just maybe, he would, too.

Rehab was absolutely worth the cost of living with a 20-year-old.

Darcy found Sif as she was wiping away a stray tear. “Hey, are you okay?” Darcy asked. “Whoa, is that a tear? Are you crying?” Moving closer, she demanded, “Was that Haldor on the phone? Did he make you cry? Because holiday or no holiday, I will hunt him down and get Jane to run over his ass.”

Sif let out a watery laugh. “Please, don’t. Then he might fall in love with me while convalescing in the hospital.”

“Huh,” Darcy said, tapping her lip pensively. “We could start a new dating service. ‘Find your one true love and we’ll run him over. Love guaranteed to blossom while he’s strapped to a hospital bed and can’t run away from you.’ " 

Sif laughed again, her tears now long gone. “I’m horrified at the thought that your business might be a success.”

“I could make millions,” Darcy said, “and give Jane all the funding she’s ever wanted. Speaking of--” Darcy turned towards the kitchen as if to yell at Jane, but cut herself off to peer at Sif. “You okay? I think I can count on one finger the number of time I’ve seen you cry, and that one finger represents just now.”

“It’s not a bad thing. Just my brother; he told me he loved me.”

“About time. You sure you’re good?”

“Yes.”

Walking back into the kitchen, Darcy said, “Jane! I’ve got a million dollar idea!”

Sif searched out a bathroom to make sure her face wasn’t blotchy. She hadn’t full on cried, so her eyes weren’t puffy, and the little red that surrounded her eyes could easily be explained away if she fake sneezed while walking back into the kitchen. Remembering the various period dramas she’d seen, Sif pinched her cheeks in an attempt to give them color. It was surprisingly effective, but now she looked like she’d been slapped. Laughing, Sif gave the cause up for lost and rejoined the party.

She sat next to Loki at dinner, giving her ample opportunity to let their hands brush against each other as they passed food back and forth. Every time they made contact, Sif smiled a little wider. Conversation flowed easily between the five adults, with Thor repeatedly stealing the spotlight as he shared stories from his and Loki’s childhood. Jane spent most of the meal staring at Thor in adoration, until Loki got sick of it and engaged her in a physics dialogue. That immediately bored the rest of them, so they talked about their favorite bands and TV shows. Thor and Jane were sitting on one side of the table, Sif and Loki on the other, with Darcy at the head. Sif was sitting opposite Jane, meaning the science geeks’ conversation was in the way of her pop culture conversation. She and Loki tried leaning around each other, until he was half under her and she was half over him, bracing herself against his shoulder.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself this much.

After dinner, Jane insisted Loki and Sif have a seat in the living room while she, Thor, and Darcy cleaned up. Under different circumstances, Sif might protest, but having more Loki time was pretty much the only thing she wanted, so she retreated to the couch with her usually grumpy professor.

“We should find a game to play once they’re done cleaning,” Sif said, eyeing a small stack of games set next to the TV.

“Games are not my favorite pastime,” Loki informed her.

“Really? I would’ve thought you loved the competition.”

“I do. Thor says it makes me unbearable to play with.”

She believed it.

“Movie?” she suggested.

“Thor would prefer that. It enables his food coma.” Which began the battle of selecting a title. Sif was all for a cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie, but Loki would rather die than watch an inferior romance. She suggested _Troy_ , but that sparked a fifteen minute lecture on how the movie was an abominable substitute for _The Iliad_. Normally Sif would find such preaching insufferable, but Loki did it with such a charming accent she soon lost the thread of his argument and got lost in the cadence of his voice. His suggestion of a war movie was met with her own lecture (though only two minutes long, not a full quarter hour) about Thanksgiving being a celebration of peace and unity and by golly they were going to stick to tradition.

In the end, they settled on some black and white classic which no one found objectionable.

Jane only had one couch and one reading chair. She chose to share the chair with Thor (Sif wasn’t quite sure they both fit, but their dopey smiles indicated they didn’t care), meaning Darcy squished onto the couch with Loki and Sif. Sif meant to watch the movie, but much like Thor, she gave into the Thanksgiving food coma and fell asleep within the first ten minutes.

She had a delightful dream that she ended up on Loki’s lap, his fingers running through her hair. “Just ask her out already,” she dreamed someone said, but didn’t catch a response.

She woke as the credits were rolling, and realized her head really was on Loki’s lap. Horror rooted her to the spot. She couldn’t move _now_. To leap away scandalized, as she very much wanted to do, might indicate that she found being near him offensive, the last thing she wanted him thinking. But to stay here, cocooned in his warmth, which she also wanted to do, might alert him to the fact that she was interested (because coming to his office hours every week certainly hadn’t done that, no siree bob), which she wasn’t ready to admit to until she knew how he stood with regards to his broken engagement.

So instead, she kept her eyes closed and pretended she was still asleep.

Loki shifted slightly, and it occurred to her he might want to get up. “Don’t move!” Darcy whispered. “For goodness’ sake, she hasn’t slept properly since the breakup, and I’ll murder you myself if you wake her now.”

Absolute lie, but bless Darcy for coming up with it.

“Hasn’t slept?” Loki murmured back. Bless that man and his sexy voice. “I thought she was handling it all right.”

“Yeah, she’d like us to think that, but I live with her. I know her tells.” Either Darcy was reading into things that weren’t there, or she was fabricating one hell of a story for Loki. If it was the former, Sif was going to have to give Darcy a crash course in understanding how breakups weren’t always traumatic. If it was the latter, she’d build her roommate a cake or something. “She hides it well, but they were together a long time. I know it’s pulling on her.”

That had been true for about two days, at which point Sif remembered she got to go back to Loki’s Greek Lit class, and everything righted itself. Huh. Maybe she ought to apologize to Haldor for emotionally cheating on him.

“She’s never given any indication.”

“Yeah, Sif’s not one to show her feelings. Keeps things close to the chest, you know.”

In a flash of insight, Sif realized Darcy was trying to hint to Loki that Sif was interested in him. How had she picked up on that? Sif had been so careful not to let her roommate notice her interest in the cranky professor! Not careful enough, apparently. What gave it away? The fact that she read the books for Darcy’s class? That she had stopped mentioning Haldor long before they actually broke up? That she talked constantly about Loki? 

Okay, in hindsight, perhaps Sif had been shouting from the rooftops that she was into Dr. Odinson. Blast.

“Another movie?” Loki suggested. Excellent choice.

“But something quiet. Gotta let our three sleeping beauties get their naps in.”

Sif was going to sleep for the rest of her life if it meant she didn’t have to move from Loki’s lap.

About halfway through the second movie, Loki carefully dislodged himself from Sif with a murmured excuse of needing to use the restroom. Sif waited until she was sure he’d left the room before shifting like she’d just woken up. 

“He’s not here, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Darcy said, voice low. “I know how long you’ve been awake.”

“Darcy, I love you,” Sif said. “Remind me to cut you a deal on utilities.”

“Score!” Darcy whisper-cheered.

“Will you marry my brother?” Thor rumbled from his seat. Sif jerked her head around to see a grinning Thor, Jane curled against his chest, still asleep. “He’s been a lot nicer since you came around.” Sif turned bright red and shot the man a look. “I know, I know, too soon,” he said. “But the semester ends soon.” And then he _winked_.

Closing her eyes Sif hissed, “Shut up, _I’m still asleep._ ”

When Loki came back he did not return to the couch, sitting instead on the floor. Probably for the best, but Sif couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Not that it would make much sense for him to slide back under her head, but she’d kind of been hoping.

On the walk home, Darcy bumped Sif with her shoulder. “Someone’s got the hots for a certain classics professor,” she said.

“Shut up,” Sif said, bumping her back, but her grin gave her away.

Lying in bed that night, Sif felt like a lovesick schoolgirl, but damn if that hadn’t been the best holiday she’d had in years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mashed potato recipe: boil ‘em, mash ‘em, add every bit of full fat dairy you’ve got in your house, plus some salt and pepper. I’ve done this the last several years for Thanksgiving and always get heaps of compliments, even from self-proclaimed mashed potato connoisseurs.


	4. It Makes Me So Mad

Loki could not sleep.

He still wasn’t sure how Sif ended up asleep on his lap, but he hadn’t complained one bit. His hands naturally found themselves tangled in her hair, and as Darcy hadn’t said anything and the other three were asleep, he’d indulged himself, if only for a moment.

(Or for twenty minutes. Still only a moment.)

Loki cared little for the holidays, and unlike his students, did not measure his life by the next break from work. His parents were often in England for Christmas, so it wasn’t even a family holiday, merely another day where Thor forced him into festivities of some sort, and Loki couldn’t escape to any of his usual haunts because they were all closed. He didn’t dislike Christmas; it just...was.

But for the first time in his adult life, Loki could not wait for the Christmas holidays to start, as it would mark the end of the semester and he could finally, _finally_ do something about the growing feelings he had for a certain woman.

He hadn’t known Sif was coming to Thanksgiving dinner (another holiday he only cared about insofar as he got to eat green bean casserole, America’s crowning achievement, in his opinion), though it was painfully apparent Thor had been planning on her presence for quite some time. He supposed he should be irritated with his brother, but the wide smile on Sif’s face when she spotted Loki washed away any ill regard he held for Thor.

This wasn’t good. It was already hard enough to remember there were other students in his evening Greek Lit class, when all he wanted to do was hold a conversation with her. He was growing increasingly confident that she would not reject his suit, making it that much harder to pretend she was just a student. Jane’s declaration that Sif use his given name had been a stroke of genius. He was a stickler for formality in class--he was _not_ his students’ friend and they only had leave to address him by his title (which had proven disappointing when meeting alone with Sif during office hours)--but he couldn’t ask her to call him Loki when he would insist on Dr. Odinson in class. Jane taking care of the problem allowed for greater intimacy in the privacy of her home, but still allowed for formality in class.

Three more weeks… _three more weeks_ …

Loki rolled over, burying his head under the blankets. Maybe if he couldn’t breathe sleep would come.

It didn’t, of course, and every time he closed his eyes he pictured Sif’s smile, heard her laugh, remembered the weight of her head resting on his thigh.

Were this any other circumstance, he would have already procured her number and arranged something for Friday, but since he still had to attend to teacher-student etiquette, he could only hope for their paths to cross. Though perhaps if he visited any location he knew she frequented, he might be able to steal half an hour’s conversation with her, should he happen to find her wandering about.

Sleep came quickly after that, and in the morning, Loki set about wandering town in hopes of spotting Sif.

He started at the bookstore, a big mistake as he quickly got lost browsing materials he was interested in and dropped several hundred dollars he hadn’t been expecting to spend. Sif could have come and gone from the bookstore several times and he wouldn’t have noticed. Ah, well, money well spent.

He visited the coffee shop next, only to discover their new candy cane Christmas coffee. As a good Englishman, Loki felt the need to spurn coffee on principle, but the myriad specialty flavors always intrigued him, and though he would accept a knife to the gut before he admitted it, he was rather taken with the charming flavors the Americans invented. Thank goodness Thor clung to his English roots and only drank home brewed tea, assuring Loki would never run into his brother at Deja Brew. Unfortunately, he didn’t run into Sif, either, even after sitting for an hour.

It briefly crossed Loki’s mind that the place he was most likely to run into Sif was his office, but even if she were so inclined to visit him when he was not scheduled to be in, the building was closed and locked for the holiday.

The only other public space Loki had encountered Sif was Asgard’s. He didn’t know if the trauma of ending a relationship there kept her from visiting, but it was worth a shot, and looked less pathetic if he spent several hours there alone. Grabbing an ale, Loki found a dark corner and observed the patrons.

He wasn’t much of a bar man himself, but when he felt particularly lonely or simply wanted to feel better about life by watching souls more pathetic than his become drunken messes, Asgard’s was where he went. It was far enough away from campus that most students didn’t know about it, much less patronize the place, making it ideal for Loki to brood over a pint without having someone pester him about changing their grade.

And why were students so determined to get good grades? If they did the work, that would be one thing, but every semester Loki was bombarded with lazy individuals who wanted an A to be handed them on a silver platter, as if their very existence demanded good marks. He much preferred Sif’s educational theory--learn something, regardless of the attached grade. It was a rare philosophy, but the few students who espoused it usually earned the A anyway as they put in the effort required to achieve the grade.

Just as Loki was debating giving up, the door opened and caught his attention. It wasn’t Sif, but that dullard she once called boyfriend. The man had his arm around the same brunette he’d chosen over Sif. She was pleasant enough to look at, Loki supposed, if one enjoyed ample cleavage in place of quick wit.

The brute abandoned his lady in favor of the loo, so Loki stood and made his way to the woman’s side. He tapped her shoulder to get her attention, and she slid her eyes to Loki, quickly assessing him. She must like what she saw, for a slow smile and lidded eyes greeted him. “Hello, handsome,” she purred, and Loki quickly amended his assessment of her. She may not have the intellectual fortitude he so admired in a woman, but she was no simpleton, either. A man should tread carefully near her lest he be caught in her net.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude,” Loki informed her.

“I would love to accept payment,” she said, eyeing him in such a way that he knew precisely what sort of payment she would want.

“You make a fine Aphrodite,” he informed her, her plump lips curling with pleasure at the perceived compliment, “but I prefer Persephone.”

Her smile vanished as she appraised him anew. “I’m with someone,” she said, losing interest.

“I know. He’s the reason I owe you a debt.” She arched a brow. “Do tell that disloyal lump of excrement you call yours that his breakup muffins were excellent.”

Leaving his glass on the bar, Loki slipped out of Asgard’s, feeling pleased. He hoped that miserable excuse for a man mistook Loki’s comment as indication that he shared those muffins with Sif rather than just heard about them during one of his many visits with her. It was petty, yes, but he wanted the man to know Sif had someone better. Or would, as soon as the semester ended and he could finally make his move.

Though he hadn’t seen Sif, Loki felt the day was a success. He could make it to the end of the semester. He absolutely could.

*

It was two weeks later during office hours when Sif arrived looking intent. She usually entered Loki’s office with a smile and a spring in her step, so to see her looking so determined immediately raised Loki’s hackles. In his experience, when a usually pleasant woman arrives wearing that look, not only is it best to step lightly, but it’s best to step lightly on the way out the back door. His office only had the one door, and she was blocking it, so unless Loki wished to jump out a third story window, he was going to have to face whatever issue Sif wished to discuss.

Gesturing at her usual seat, he invited her to sit down. Looking at the chair, Sif frowned and folded her arms, looking up at Loki from under narrowed eyes. “I had an interesting yesterday,” she said.

“Do tell.”

She took the seat, though her arms remained crossed. “Haldor, of all people, showed up at my door making wild accusations.”

Hm. Loki had felt some trepidation the morning after his encounter with Sif’s ex, but when nothing came of it, he let the matter slip from his mind, figuring Haldor either didn’t care about Loki’s presence or was too dull-witted to connect the dots, all assuming, of course, that the brunette delivered his message in the first place.

Perhaps it had taken this long for the man to make the connection. Loki really didn’t understand what Sif used to see in him.

“I presume there’s more to this story?” he asked after a lengthy pause.

“Did you talk to Haldor?” she asked.

“No,” Loki said honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of exchanging words with the man.”

Sif threw her hands up. “I do not understand him,” she declared. “He came over last night ranting about breakup muffins and sharing them with the undeserving, which I didn’t do as I ate every one myself. What’s his damage?”

Loki loved when he could be perfectly truthful while still not telling the truth. “Perhaps the man thinks you shared them with his replacement.”

“Yeah, and that’s the thing,” Sif said, conveniently not meeting Loki’s eyes. “The person he was describing sounded an awful lot like you, but, as previously stated, I didn’t share my muffins, nor have you ever been to my place. So I really don’t know what’s going through Haldor’s head.”

Loki couldn’t help but feel satisfied that his existence bothered the man. “He sounds like a charming creature,” Loki said.

“Oh, it gets better,” Sif said. “He told me if I was cheating on him, then I shouldn’t be half so mad he was cheating on me.” Loki felt the tiniest twinge of guilt over that, but quickly shoved it aside. “Which started a rousing argument full of violent swear words and adamant denials, but then I got so mad I told him I hadn’t acted on anything, but boy had I been thinking it.” She cut off suddenly, cheeks coloring enticingly, and she definitely wouldn’t meet Loki’s eyes. He had to work hard to keep a predatory smile off his face. Sif had been thinking about him all the way back then, hm? What a delightful and unexpected Christmas gift.

One more week. That’s all the remained before the semester officially ended, another three or four days for grades to be turned in, and then Loki was going to pounce like a lioness hunting in the Serengeti.

Clearing her throat most unconvincingly, Sif looked at him with bright eyes and said, “How about those final papers, eh?” and launched into a lengthy discourse about Achilles’ failures as a human being. Loki leaned back in his chair, amusement shrouding him like a cloak.

Their time was cut short when a series of three phone calls interrupted them. Loki was content to ignore the phone, especially when he saw Dr. Hogun’s name on the caller ID, but after the third call he apologized to Sif and answered. Given their mutual dislike of each other, for Hogun to call repeatedly could only mean there was an issue with the paper or the research.

Sif left with a wave of her fingers, Loki’s eyes trailing longingly after her. One more week…

“Hogun, this better be good.”

*

With no class and no office hours the week of final exams, Loki found himself restless, not having a set time to see Sif again. He didn’t have her contact information, and though he could easily track her down through Thor, Loki wished he didn’t have to rely on outside sources.

He was pacing in his office again. He’d already forced himself to quit three separate times, but apparently his personal orders weren’t sticking. He needed a distraction or he might go mad.

He could look up Sif’s grade.

No, that bordered on creepy, looking up her private information. But he was her professor, so it’s not like he was breaking into someone else’s office to gather this information. In fact, it could be argued he had a right to know. With that justification, he logged onto his computer and searched up Sif’s name.

It wasn’t there. Loki blinked twice, in case his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no, Sif was not listed anywhere in his evening class. There had to be some glitch in the system; he knew she was a student, she attended every lecture. In fact, she hadn’t skipped a single class, a distinction almost none of the rest of his students could claim. Perhaps he needed to reboot his laptop.

Loki was certain his computer had never been so slow to restart. Were the thing sentient, he might suspect it of intentionally slowing its processes to taunt him. Thank goodness the Greek pantheon of gods was mythical, or he might claim one of them was trying to interfere with his life. Drumming his fingers atop his desk in irritation, he waited for the computer to return to the login page.

Making quick work of pulling up his class roll, Loki once again searched for Sif’s name in vain. Unless the school had her catalogued under a legal name she did not use everyday, then she was not on his roster. Bloody hell, what did this mean? There must be a dozen rational explanations, none of which were coming to Loki’s mind.

Her repeated insistence that she was not a student ran through his head. Perhaps she had meant what she said after all, but if that was the case, why was she attending a general education literature course? There had to be a thousand better things for her to do with her time (not that Loki could think of a single one; after all, what could possibly be a better use of time than in-depth discussions of Achilles’ motivations for his actions and his failures as a human being?).

He should be pleased; this was a sign that Sif had intentionally been seeking out his company. Yet he could not help feeling betrayed, somewhat taken advantage of. Had she meant any of their academic discussions? Had any of her interest in Greek literature been genuine?

_Loki: get me Sif’s number_

_Thor: Finally!_

The following texts were nothing but kissy faces, only serving to further anger Loki. He could not bear to tell his brother the truth.

He waited for twenty minutes before Thor sent the number, accompanied by several dozen more kissy faces. Loki despised emojis; they were a primitive form of communication employed by individuals who lacked the elegance to properly use written language.

Scrawling Sif’s name and number on a sticky note, Loki stormed to the desk of the department secretary. It was the same mousy girl who’d interrupted his class when Thor was injured. Slamming the note on her desk, he said, “Call this woman and set up an appointment.”

“Yes, sir,” the mousy girl squeaked, hurrying to grab the phone.

Loki returned to his office and waited.

It wasn’t long before an email pinged his inbox with an appointment for the next day. Excellent. He was going to get the full story out of her.

*

Loki put extra care into his appearance, not because he wished to look good for the lady he wished to woo, but to remind her that he was a man of some importance and would not tolerate being played with. This was not a meeting of equals.

Sif came rushing in five minutes late to Loki’s displeased face and irritated demeanor. She was flushed from the cold, breathing heavily enough Loki knew she ran to be on time. “Sorry,” she greeted him with a smile. “I got caught up at work and almost didn’t make it.”

Once again she was in business attire, black slacks with a black blazer overtop a red silky blouse, all underneath the open bundle of black coat and scarf. Loki felt slightly ashamed of himself that he hadn’t connected her talk of her job and her appearance with the fact that she had a legitimate career. In their many discussions over the course of the semester, not once had the topic of her career come up. Feeling like an unobservant toerag, Loki said coolly, “Why are you here?”

She paused in shrugging off her coat. “Because you set up an appointment…?” she said.

“Not here in this moment. I mean in this class.”

“Because I like it?”

Pointing at his computer, Loki said, “It has come to my attention that you’re not a student.”

Sif finished removing the coat, draping it over the back of her usual chair as she sat down. “Yeah, I’ve been telling you that pretty much since the first time we met.”

Loki had to remind himself that she wasn’t being intentionally obtuse, he was simply giving confusing statements. “You’re not enrolled in my section, so why do you attend lectures for a class you aren’t taking?”

She tilted her head in a tiny shrug. “Darcy conned me into it. She’s in your class, but her internship was at the same time, so she asked me to come and take notes for her. I just happened to really enjoy myself, so I started doing the reading, too, so the lecture would make more sense. She did all the work, though, wrote the papers and took the tests. I just sat back and learned something for fun.”

It was oddly flattering that not only did she attend class, but she came to his office hours. Loki supposed he should be thrilled, as it basically confirmed her interest in him, but he couldn’t get over that feeling of betrayal, like she wasn’t who she claimed to be. It was an unfair feeling, he knew, as she had never claimed to be a student, and in fact repeatedly told him she wasn’t, but simply because it was unfair did not prevent him from feeling it. He felt renewed kinship with Achilles, who was so deeply upset by Agamemnon’s betrayal and taking of Achilles’ woman. It was a stupid thing to be upset over, when Briseis was only a slave girl recently claimed in battle, someone Achilles barely knew, yet it was the inciting event of _The Iliad_. The entire rest of the book was Achilles’ story in overcoming his too-powerful emotions. Idly, Loki wondered if this would be the inciting event of the rest of his life.

He didn’t know what to do with all of the emotions bubbling to the surface, so Loki distracted himself by turning to his computer to search for Darcy Lewis.

The result came up negative, so he searched again.

Nothing.

“Darcy is not registered for my course.”

Sif’s smile turned confused. “Excuse me?” she asked, leaning forward as if to check his computer screen.

“No Darcy.”

Sif’s face contorted from confused to angry in a matter of seconds, mirroring Loki’s own inner turmoil as he tried to process the fact that this woman snuck into his class and took it for no reason at all.

“Excuse me,” Sif said, whipping out her phone to dial someone, presumably Darcy. It didn’t take long for the younger woman to answer. “Darcy, what the hell? What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re not on Loki’s roll--I mean Dr. Odinson’s. At all. Are you even in this class? _What_? In _September_? Why didn’t you tell me? I was taking copious notes for-- _I’m not even in college! I was doing this as a favor!_ ” A pause. “Then maybe you should have informed me! I’m sitting here getting yelled at by someone who isn’t either of our professor, and I’m looking mighty stupid doing it.” A twenty second pause, then Sif growled. “You little ingrate--You’re grounded. Don’t tell me I can’t ground you; I’m a decade older than you, and this goes beyond the pale. Damn right this conversation isn’t over.” She hung up and looked at Loki. “I am so sorry,” she said. “So sorry.”

Loki shook his head. “You really aren’t a student?” he asked, and she shook her head. He laughed in disbelief. “I have been agonizing for months about asking you to dinner, knowing it was wildly inappropriate to fraternize with a student, and I could have done so at any point?” The expression on her face morphed into something suspiciously like hope, so Loki leaned back in his chair, putting distance, minimal though it may be, between them. “Oh no,” he said. “I am far too angry with you to entertain the notion of asking you to dinner.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” Sif said, pulling a sharpie out of her purse. “I’m angry, too. Darcy’s going to die when I get home.” Leaning over the desk, she grabbed his hand and scrawled something on his palm before he could prevent her from doing it. “But we won’t be angry forever, and when you’ve stopped hating me and remember the fantastic conversations we’ve had, you’re going to call me and I’m going to go on a date with you.” Capping the pen, she pointed it at him. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Odinson. I’ll be over my anger by tomorrow, and I’m not very patient.”

And she was gone before Loki could formulate a response.

He didn’t know what to think. There were too many emotions vying for his attention, reminding him too much of how he felt when he discovered he was adopted.

Slamming his laptop lid shut, Loki grabbed his things and headed for his car. His plan was to go home and become so inebriated he couldn’t remember Sif’s face. He could deal with his feelings tomorrow.


	5. Gorgeous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every one who has read, left kudos, or commented on this story. Y'all are the reason I keep writing. <3

Sif waved good morning to the receptionist as she put her coat and purse on the conveyor belt. She tried not to feel anxiety as she watched her phone go through the x-ray machine, but if Loki actually called, which he had yet to do, she could just answer it on the other side of the metal detector.

She’d been in Vanaheim for almost a week now, visiting Heimdall for the holidays. After the blow-up with Loki, Sif figured he would need some space… Fine, that wasn’t true. She knew if she didn’t leave town, she wouldn’t give him the space he might need, so it was better for her to be several hundred miles away where she couldn’t give in to the urge to find his house and knock on his door until he opened it and kissed her.

The security man waved her through, only grunting in response to her cheery greeting. Collecting her things, Sif pointlessly checked her phone again (of course he hadn’t called) and went to find Heimdall’s room.

She hadn’t told her brother she was coming for a visit so he couldn’t tell her no. Their first day together had been full of uncomfortable silences and unspoken words, but since then they’d struck up a slightly less uncomfortable acquaintanceship. How sad, Sif thought, that she had a better relationship with her twenty-year-old roommate than with her 30-year-old brother.

Not that Darcy was in Sif’s good books at the moment. The scamp dropped her Greek Lit class two weeks into the semester and never told Sif because “I kinda shipped you and the broody man,” which, while Sif theoretically appreciated the sentiment, was also kind of insulting. Besides the fact that she was still dating Haldor at the time, asking Sif to attend a class Darcy wasn’t even taking was low.

Of course, on the flip side, if this relationship actually blossomed, Sif supposed she might owe Darcy, since she never would have met Loki without Darcy’s intervention.

She checked her phone again.

“A watched pot never boils,” Heimdall said. Sif looked up; she hadn’t realized she was at his room already.

“I’m not watching it,” Sif said, putting her phone on silent and dropping it in her purse.

“Uh-huh,” Heimdall said, unconvinced. “Just call him. You’ve always been a go-getter.”

“But I don’t have his number,” Sif said, “so the ball is in his court.”

“And if he doesn’t call or text before you go home?”

Sif shrugged. “I’ll track down his address, show up on his door, and become a decorative plant until he talks to me.”

Heimdall moved out of the doorway, allowing Sif entrance. His room was tiny and sparse: a bed, a dresser, a small desk. Heimdall claimed he didn’t need more as he didn’t own more, but it still made Sif sad to see her brother with so little. She needed to check if the halfway house had limitations on personal possessions, because she was going to spend what little money she had on sprucing up her brother’s life just a bit.

The halfway house had been good for Heimdall. He’d tried rehab before, forced into it by Sif or her parents, but this time he’d asked if he could go, and told Sif which program he wanted. In addition to the rehab, the program provided transition into the halfway house before transitioning back into normal life. The program was pricey, but it had a high success rate. Normally Sif wouldn’t have agreed to pay for it, but the fact that Heimdall came to her indicated he actually wanted it to stick this time. Seeing him clean still surprised her; she hadn’t seen him sober in close to fifteen years.

Sitting at the foot of Heimdall’s carefully made bed, Sif patted the mattress beside her. Heimdall was still uncomfortable with physical proximity, but he’d condescended to sit on the opposite side of the bed yesterday. He glanced disdainfully at her side and moved to the head of the bed. Well, it had been a long shot.

“So what did you do with Mom and Dad’s fortune?”

Sif looked at him askance. “You mean the fortune that paid for all your legal fees?”

He nodded. “That’s what I thought. I owe you a lot of money.”

True, if Sif was counting on payback, but that involved tying strings of obligation she didn’t want. When Heimdall felt obligated, he bolted in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. “You owe me a lot of phone calls,” she said, “or letters, if talking to me so much tires you out.”

“I owe you a lot of money,” he repeated, and she shook her head.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. Maybe I’ll get a real job and save it all up to send your kid to college.”

Patting her stomach, Sif said, “Sure. My invisible kid will love that.” They both smiled. She hoped one day Heimdall would have a niece or nephew to love, and was kind of touched that he thought it might happen.

“It could be a real kid if you call that man.” Grabbing her coat, she threw it at his grinning face. “Tell me about him.”

“No. There’s nothing to tell.”

“You keep checking your phone, so I think there’s something to tell.”

“I keep checking my phone because I’m a product of the technology age and can’t go five minutes without it.”

“We grew up in a forest. Excuse invalid.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a product of the technology age _now_.”

“You never cared if Haldor called you.”

Not much she could say in defense there.

“Tell me about him,” Heimdall repeated. “Would I like him?”

Good question. “You’re both difficult to deal with, so you’ll either love each other or hate each other,” Sif said. “It could be a volatile relationship.”

“But we both love you.”

She wished. “ _You_ love me.”

“If he doesn’t love you, leave him. A pumpkin spice latte is a better companion.”

She smiled, looking down at the blue-striped bedspread. “That’s true of an established relationship. Loki and I haven’t even had a date yet.” Unless she counted all the time spent together during office hours, but if she counted those as dates, she’d have to consider every student meeting he had as a date, and Sif didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole.

“Then go secure a date,” Heimdall said.

“What, now?”

“Not now. After you leave.”

“You want me to fly back home and ask Loki on a date?”

“No, call him.”

“Again, I don’t have his number.”

“Internet stalk him. You can find everything that way.”

 Sif peered distrustingly at Heimdall. “Are you trying to get rid of me so I don’t come visit you again?”

He shrugged. “That would be nefarious of me. Christmas is tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Use that smartphone of yours and call him. I’m tired of you looking at your phone every two seconds.”

“I haven’t looked at my phone once since I got here!” She wanted to, though, and was itching to pull it out.

“Sif.”

“Heimdall.”

“Go home. I’ll still be here once you’ve secured his hand.”

Sif imagined taking Loki as her prize for a battle won, and couldn’t stop the grin from stretching her lips. He’d probably consider it a great honor to have been so claimed, especially if he thought of himself as Briseis and Sif as Achilles. It would be his dream come true, to be claimed by what he considered the greatest demigod of all time.

“If you ever smiled like that over Haldor, I would have told you to marry him.”

This time Sif threw her purse. “It’s too soon to be talking marriage!”

“Mm-hmm.”

Redirecting the conversation, Sif spent the rest of her visit peppering Heimdall with so many questions about rehab he didn’t have time to say suggestive things about Loki, though as she was putting on her coat to leave, he admonished her once more to go home. “We haven’t spent Christmas together for more than ten years. I think I’ll survive.”

The thought plagued her all the way back to her Airbnb. Loki clearly wasn’t going to call, but was that because he was done with her, or…? That was half the problem--there were so many possible ors that could go there. Or he was in a car accident and died while she was away. Or he was a coward and didn’t know how to make the first move. Or he washed his hand without thinking and didn’t have her number anymore. Or he had called, repeatedly, but she wrote the wrong number in the first place so it didn’t matter.

Or, or, or, or.

Regardless of what he was feeling, Sif missed him. It had been months since she’d gone so long without seeing him, and she was finding she didn’t like it. She wanted to see him every day, wanted to argue with him over fictional characters and then discuss everything under the sun. She wanted to see his stupid scowl, and, yes, she wanted to kiss him.

Slumping against the door, Sif remembered the fiancée. That was a topic they hadn’t discussed yet; was Loki even ready for a relationship? He’d better be. She was going to be crushed if he wasn’t.

Heimdall had a point; Christmas wasn’t a holiday they spent together, and there would be many more Christmases they could enjoy once he was let out of proverbial house arrest. Maybe she ought to chase her own dreams for once. And if Loki didn’t want her or wasn't ready for her? Well, better to know before Christmas.

Calling the airline, Sif arranged to take an earlier flight home while she packed, then called the halfway house and told Heimdall she was taking his advice for the first time ever. He didn’t say much, probably smiling quietly, but Sif could feel his approval through the phone. Darcy agreed to pick Sif up at the airport, and with everything arranged, the only thing she had left to do was wait.

If this was a movie, she’d plan an elaborate meetup, find some way to show up with balloons and flowers and candles (or maybe ancient Greek artifacts, spears, and bits of armor, to appease Loki’s love of Greek literature). If it was a movie, there was also a 50% chance they’d miss each other because he would have found out where she went and chased her down, and after a crazy mix-up, they’d meet halfway in an airport and share a kiss set to swelling music.

As it was, she was hoping he wanted to see her at all, forget anything else. Mild interest, that’s what she was aiming for. She could work with that.

She flew through airport security and paced in front of the gate, trying to work away her nervous energy before she got trapped in the middle seat on the plane. The thing causing her the most anxiety was putting her phone on airplane mode in-flight. What if he called while she was 10,000 feet in the air? It wasn’t likely, as he had yet to call, but it would be just her luck.

Her phone did ring just after she took her seat. Fumbling, Sif hurried to answer without checking who it was, and was disappointed when it was just a telemarketer who ended up treated to a taste of her temper. Turning off her phone, Sif swore she wouldn’t obsess the whole flight. (She did, but she was becoming quite accomplished at lying to herself.)

To her surprise, it wasn’t Darcy who met Sif at the airport, but Thor, holding a large sign with SIF written in bubble letters, surrounded by hearts, and grinning so hard Sif gave a matching grin.

“Sif!” Thor cried, wrapping her in a hug and crushing her just a little.

“Oof,” Sif said, pushing back from the chest press masquerading as Thor’s arms. “Where’s Darcy?”

“Jane ran off with her shouting about science.”

“I thought Darcy’s internship was over.”

Thor shrugged. “It might be, but I think Darcy adopted Jane, so I doubt she’s going anywhere anytime soon.” Sif wasn’t surprised; Darcy did have a habit of adopting 30-something misfits who needed looking after.

Thor took Sif’s bag, cutting off a protest by reminding her that he had a duty to the women of the world to show off his biceps. Sif laughed and let him carry her bag, because he was right about that duty. Jane was a lucky woman.

Once in the car, it was about an hour and a half drive to home, giving Sif ample opportunity to interrogate Thor. “I have a question,” she said.

“Yes, my brother is in love with you, so whatever you’ve got planned is going to go over well.”

Sif flushed from tip to toe. “That was not my question!” she said hotly. “...But I’m glad to know because that makes me a whole lot less nervous.”

Thor grinned at her. “I knew you had the hots for him the first time I met you.”

“You and Darcy spend way too much time together.”

“Probably true.”

Sif took a deep breath. “I want to know about the fiancée.”

Thor paused, face scrunching up. “Fiancée?”

“The one who broke Loki’s heart?”

“Ohhh, you mean Sigyn! I thought you were asking about Jane.”

“You’re _engaged_?”

“Not yet, which is why I was confused.” He couldn’t possibly be thinking of proposing already, but then, maybe when you knew, you knew. In any event, Sif had a more pressing problem.

“So? Fiancée?” she asked.

Thor shrugged. “It was a long time ago, maybe five years? They dated in high school, broke up for college, then got back together before grad school. They were engaged for a year before Sigyn broke it off, something about not wanting to share Loki with his books.”

Tapping her ear, Sif said, “Excuse me? Did you say _five years ago_?”

“Yeah, why?”

Who the hell still talked about their ex-fiancée _five years later_? “Is he still not over her?” she demanded, rethinking her mad plan.

“She’s old news. I haven’t heard Loki talk about her in years. Why are you bringing her up?”

“Everyone knows cranky Dr. Odinson is still reeling from heartbreak due to a broken engagement. It was the first thing Darcy said to me when she asked me to take notes for her.”

Thor threw his head back and laughed. “That ruddy blighter,” he exclaimed. “He used to complain all the time about the undergrads hitting on him. Guess now I know how he started keeping them at bay.” He shook his head. “It’s effective, if the students are still spreading the rumor for him.”

Folding her arms, Sif scowled at the road. “Five years,” she muttered. “Five years! Did you know I wanted to ask your brother out forever ago, but didn’t out of respect for his _five year old_ _heartbreak?_ If I had known, I would have asked him to dinner months ago!”

Thor laughed again, the warm sound filling the car. “My brother is his own worst enemy,” he said fondly. “Serves him right. You not actually a student, him not suffering from heartbreak. You could have been dating all this time if you’d just had an honest conversation.”

“I did not think it appropriate to step on any toes when I didn’t know how fresh the heartbreak was,” Sif said.

“And he didn’t think it appropriate to date a student.”

Damn ethical dilemmas. If Loki wasn’t one of those men who followed the rules, they could have been making out on her couch months ago. Though she supposed she should be grateful he was considerate of authority positions and didn’t abuse his power. And she would be grateful, after she had secured him and was busy making out with him on said couch. Right now, she was just irritated.

“Stupid ethical dingbat,” she muttered, making Thor laugh yet again.

When they were twenty minutes from home, Thor turned serious. “You _are_ interested in him, yeah? Because he thinks you’re the cleverest thing to walk into his life, and he won’t handle it well if you tell him he’s too into his books and ancient dead heroes.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing our entire relationship is based on discussing those dead heroes,” Sif told him. “Did you know I haven’t read a classic since high school? Swore them off after my English teacher foisted Dickens on us. Man needed a serious editor. And now I’ve not only read several ancient classics, I actually spent good money on them. Your brother’s a hazard to my health.”

“Your kids are going to be too clever for their own good.”

“Says the man who wants to marry a physics PhD.”

“Hah! You didn’t flinch when I said _kids_! You really do want to have smarmy professor babies.”

Again, Sif blushed all over. “Shut up,” she said, lacking a better comeback. If her kids were little geniuses, it certainly wouldn’t be her fault.

She tried to direct Thor to Loki’s house, but the man insisted on dropping by her place first to drop off her things. Sif must really be off her game, because it took her entirely too long realize why. She had the front door open and was tossing her bag over the threshold before she saw Loki sitting on her couch and connected the dots. “Why didn’t you call me?” she demanded instead of saying something romantic like _I love you_ or _want to grab a bite?_ or _take me, I’m yours._

“I felt a conversation of this magnitude was best delivered in person,” Loki said, his stupid velvet voice ruining any frustration she felt.

“Then deliver it.”

“You, out.” It took Sif a moment realize Loki was talking to Thor who was still standing behind her. The blonde brother winked lasciviously at them and made a quick exit. Sif turned back around to find Loki had moved much closer **,** her pulse spiking at his presence. “After you left my office, I went home and fell asleep angry. But when I woke, I couldn’t remember why. Granted, that was in large part due to the massive hangover I had, but that aside, I called myself ten kinds of stupid for having you in my hand and letting you walk away.”

Sif was sure there was a grand story to follow, but finding she was impatient, she stepped forward and pressed her lips to Loki’s. She had been waiting ever so long to do that. Loki returned the kiss for a moment before pulling back. “I have a whole speech prepared, don’t interrupt me,” he said, so Sif promptly interrupted him again. He didn’t seem to mind.

When they parted, Sif smiled demurely at him and said, “I have a lovely couch, you know.”

“Absolutely not,” Loki said. “I have been rehearsing this speech for a week, and you are going to stand there and listen to it.”

“And then we move to the couch?” she asked hopefully.

“Speech first.” With a smile, Sif stepped back, clasping her hands behind her back to prevent any further interrupting. Loki cleared his throat, and Sif noticed his hair looked delightfully mussed. “Where was I?”

“About to tell me why you didn’t call.”

“I wanted to do this in person, so I hunted down your address and showed up on your doorstep with flowers, only to find you’d left town.” Curse her desire to reconnect with her brother; if Sif had stayed, she could have been making out with Loki on her couch all week long. “My anger was misdirected. I wasn’t upset you weren’t a student; I was upset because if I’d known, I’d have asked you out much sooner.”

“I did tell you, repeatedly,” she reminded him.

His lips curled up ever so slightly. “And I didn’t believe you.”

“We’re going to have to work on that.” The look in his eyes said there were other things he’d rather work on, and Sif flushed again. It was her turn to clear her throat. “Before we get on that, I have a confession.” His look turned wary, and Sif fought the urge to kiss his fears away. “I would have asked you out months ago, but rumor had it you were reeling from a broken engagement.”

“Ah. I usually find that story works in my favor. Still, you could have just asked.”

“Thought about it, but that whole eraser throwing incident made me think twice about doing so.”

Loki sighed dramatically. “Again, that usually works in my favor.”

“How often do you throw erasers at students?!”

“About once a semester, when one of the dunderheads gathers the courage to ask.”

“How have you not gotten fired yet?”

“I am extremely good at my job.” She couldn't argue with that; it was his competence, after all, that drew her back week after week and convinced her to finish his required reading list.

Her brows furrowed. “Wait, are you telling me you haven’t dated anyone since you broke up with your fiancée?”

“I am not a serial dater. I prefer to devote my time and talents only to those worthy of my attentions.”

That brought on a pleasant tingle. Sif liked being worthy of his attentions, and liked that she was one of a few. “Well, I dated a lunkhead for years, so you’re also on a short list.” His smile widened as he moved closer, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. “And for the record, Darcy lied to you when she said I had a hard time getting over Haldor. That happened about five minutes after we parted ways because I was too busy thinking about you.”

He huffed a laugh. “I knew you were awake for that conversation.”

Sif shrugged and murmured, “What can I say? I find you entirely too distracting.”

This time Loki initiated the kiss, and Sif melted into him. They moved to the couch; it was every bit as heavenly as she’d predicted.

*

Jane and Thor got engaged on Christmas. They planned a massive church wedding for June, but only lasted three weeks before eloping. Loki and Sif were invited to attend, conditional upon promising to shut up about classic literature. Loki pouted the whole way to the courthouse, but Sif kissed him into compliance, so he was all smiles for the short ceremony.

Once all the paperwork was signed, Thor suggested Sif and Loki could make it a double wedding, an idea they soundly rejected. Sif wasn’t getting married without Heimdall present, not to mention three weeks of dating wasn’t nearly enough. Still, the idea of eventually marrying Loki gave her the warm tinglies, and she couldn’t quite wipe away the smile on her face.

Darcy, of course, claimed credit for their relationship. Publicly Sif scorned the notion, but privately she agreed and cut Darcy’s utilities bill in half to show her gratitude. However, since Sif had also doubled the utilities in punishment for Darcy dropping Loki's class without telling Sif, it all evened out to nothing.

Loki and Heimdall hated each other almost instantly, but they never ran out of things to argue about, which in Loki-speak was almost as good as an I love you. Despite the fact that they fought nonstop, they actively searched each other out to do so. It warmed Sif’s heart.

Sif and Loki spent half their time together reading and discussing literature. If they ever ran out of things to say, they fell back to their age-old argument about Achilles’ role as a hero in _The Iliad_. Loki, who had more experience arguing Achilles’ merits, would have won every argument, but when he got too full of himself or too close to proving Sif wrong, she shut him up with a kiss. It worked every time.

**Author's Note:**

> I am an Iliad snob, though unlike Loki, I happen to own both translations--actually, I own three different translations. Not sure why, since I only ever reference the Fitzgerald version. I pulled the Fagles one off my shelf to copy the quote, and found a bookmark I’d lost over a decade ago.


End file.
